


Eye of the Storm

by MsBarrows



Series: Storm Over Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Confinement, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Post Game, Post-Game(s), Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: Over 200.000, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 135
Words: 289,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBarrows/pseuds/MsBarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Vael arrives in Starkhaven to find two things waiting for him - a letter from Grand Cleric Elthina, and a certain apostate mage. Post-game AU.</p><p>An English-to-Japanese translation of Eye of the Storm can be be read <a href="http://laffy.sakura.ne.jp/wordpress/archives/category/eos">here on Laffy's blog</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> **So I have more than enough stories on the go already, but went and woke up with an idea for a post-game AU that just would not leave me alone. Checked the k!meme on the off-chance someone had prompted it and, what would you know, an unfilled request for pretty much exactly the scenario I had in mind existed. Prompt reads as follows:**
>
>> After the chantry explodes, Hawke allows Anders to live and tells him to leave. Sebastian is furious and, as we all know, swears to bring his army to hunt the mage down and take his revenge.  
> This, however, turns out to be unnecessary. A few weeks after leaving, Anders shows up in Starkhaven and gives himself up to Sebastian, much to Sebastian's surprise.  
> How does Sebastian react to this?

* * *

_Blessed are they who stand before  
_ _The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
_ _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker's will is written._

_\- Benedictions 4:10-11_

Sebastian found two things waiting for him when he reached Starkhaven, both surprising. The first was a letter from Grand Cleric Elthina, apparently sent some days before her death. Had the second arrived before the first, things would doubtless have turned out rather differently than they did.

* * *

Sebastian closed his eyes as he leaned against the mantelpiece, running the words of the letter past his mind's eye again. He'd read and re-read it several times since arriving in Starkhaven several days before and finding it waiting for him; the words were memorized now, etched on his heart. Elthina's final words to him, not the casual words of greeting she'd called out as he passed her on his way out of the chantry on that final, dreadful day in Kirkwall, but heartfelt words of comfort and guidance.

> _My Dear Sebastian – for you_ are _dear to me, more than many of my flock are, though I know I should not say it – I write this letter to you because I fear there are dark days ahead for us all. I do not know what has so clouded our horizons, but I am certain that the growing tensions within Kirkwall are symptoms of larger forces at work in Thedas. I fear, too, that I will not survive the coming storm. I pray that I am wrong, but as always try to make plans for if I'm right._
> 
> _If I am right, then you will find this letter waiting for you when you return to Starkhaven to take up the mantle of ruler of your people. I have never doubted that you would, in time, become ruler of Starkhaven; I have merely been waiting for your heart to guide you to the correct path. There was a time when you needed the shelter, comfort and structure that life in the chantry gave you, but I believe you have grown strong enough to stand on your own now; strong enough to be a stout protector for your people, a kind and just ruler to them. It remains only for you to recognize your own strength and the hand of the Maker's will in shaping you for this role, and to step forward and pick up the burden of your blood-right. Do not doubt that it is a burden, a heavy one; leadership is rarely an easy role, as I know all too well._
> 
> _My one fear is how easily you still give in to anger. You must learn to control it, or it will control you, and lead you down dark paths. Seek not vengeance, give not in to spite, for they are demons that seek to prey on men's hearts. Be strong, Sebastian; make of Starkhaven a beacon of hope in the dark times ahead, a place of peace and refuge for those driven before the winds of war. For I do fear war is in our future, though whether from the external threat of the Qun and its adherents, or internal dissent between mage-born and the chantry, or the growing numbers of desperate poor versus the indulgent rich, between the dispossessed elves and humanity, I cannot foresee. Perhaps all will have their part to play in the chaos ahead._
> 
> _Make of your state the calm in the eye of the storm, if you can. Be strong, be just, and most of all, be kind and merciful, for I fear kindness and mercy will both be in short supply in the dark times ahead._
> 
> _Know that I care deeply for you, and wish you well in your future, whatever it may prove to be. Be at peace, my son._
> 
> _Elthina, Grand Cleric of Kirkwall_

It was in some ways the closing phrase that hurt the most. He knew she'd likely only meant the word within its religious sense; as Grand Cleric of Kirkwall she was Mother to all the brothers and sisters of the chantry there. Yet he hoped that in some part she'd also felt him to be her son in spirit, for that he most surely was, raised and shaped by her far more than by the woman who'd given birth to him, who'd died here in Starkhaven so many years before at the hands of the traitorous, demon-possessed Harriman family.

He was still contemplating her words when there was a knock at the door.

"Come!" he called out. His Guard-Captain entered, a man he vaguely remembered as a younger man from years before, one of many among those dragging him back to the castle after yet another night of debauchery in the stews of the city. "Yes, Captain, what is it?" he asked, wondering what the man thought to have the once-dissipated youngest son now preparing to become the ruler of Starkhaven.

"Beg your pardon, m'Lord, but there's been a, err... disturbance at the gate. A man, demanding entry, claiming he has to speak to you. A mage."

"An apostate?" Sebastian asked sharply, straightening up. "What would a mage want here?"

"To surrender," an all-too-familiar voice said tiredly from behind him. Sebastian whirled, mouth gaping open at the sight of Anders standing just inside the door to the room, a guard holding tightly to each arm, a third behind him, carrying his bladed staff, two more standing some distance back, loaded crossbows pointed at him.

" _Anders!_ " Sebastian exclaimed in shock, hand already going to the dagger at his belt. "What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, voice hard with dislike and suspicion.


	2. We Have Erred

"Saving you a lot of time and effort," Anders said flatly. "I'm surrendering. No need for you to gather an army and hunt me down," he added bitterly.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "Why do I find this hard to believe?" he asked. "What's the catch, abomination?"

Anders shrugged – as much as a man could shrug when both arms were being firmly held by others. "No catch. I'm here. Do with me what you will," he said hoarsely.

Sebastian's frown deepened, and he crossed the floor in a few long strides, pulling his dagger from his belt and holding it to the man's throat. "And if that means kill you, right now, where you stand?"

Anders didn't even flinch. "Then do it," he whispered. "I'm done with running away."

Sebastian's hand trembled. Part of him longed to do it, to kill the man who had ruthlessly killed so many in Kirkwall, thrown the world into widespread discord and rebellion – reports had already reached Starkhaven of fights breaking out elsewhere, as word spread of the horrific actions taken in Kirkwall by templars and mages both. Circles rising, templars slaying their charges indiscriminately or, worse, abandoning them entirely, to their own devices or the sometimes less-than-tender mercies of those that lived nearby.

Elthina's words to him echoed through his mind. _Seek not vengeance_. He wondered how much Elthina might have known about the abomination, the apostate that was the Dark Town healer – was she even aware of the double meaning of her words to Sebastian?

"And what of your demon, mage? Will _he_ stand idly by while I cut your throat?" he hissed.

"He is gone."

" _What!_ " Sebastian demanded, unable for a moment to believe Anders' words.

"He left me, after Kirkwall."

"I do not believe you," Sebastian said softly, almost gently. "Why would he leave, when you were such a perfect tool for him to work through?"

Anders blinked, swallowed heavily. "He never really understood people, you know," he said, casually, almost lightly, a seeming non sequitur at first. "How we thought, our emotions, our needs and fears... they made no _sense_ to him. I... should have fought him harder. Done something different, forced him to _see_..." he stopped, drew a long, shuddering breath. "He believed that what he did – what _we_ did – in Kirkwall was the right thing to do. That it was made sense to destroy and discard a system that clearly wasn't working, that... _damaged_... the very people it professed to protect. Perfect logic, perhaps... but human emotions... he didn't, _couldn't_ understand how people would react to it. It... shocked him, _horrified_ him, when we started hearing word of the different ways people reacted as the news spread. So many senseless deaths... so many atrocities being committed by both sides."

Anders blinked several times, rapidly. He seemed oblivious to the blade still being held at his throat. "His last words to me were ' _we have erred_ '. And then he just... went. I don't know if he made his way back to the Fade, or... destroyed himself, somehow, or moved to a new host. But he's gone. Where he was in me before, there is nothing but emptiness. Justice is gone."

Sebastian laughed, sourly, and turned, walking a few steps away before turning to look back at the man. "Justice is indeed gone," he said bitterly. "It died in Kirkwall three weeks ago, in a blast of light, amid screams of fear. _You_ killed it."

Anders hung his head. "Yes, we... _I_... did." he said, almost humbly.

Sebastian turned his back, stepped back to where he'd been, leaning on the mantelpiece, staring into the fire. "Take him away," he said, voice low and hoarse. "Lock him up, guard him well, see no harm comes to him. I... must think on things for a while, before I decide what to do with him."

"Yes, m'Lord," the Guard-Captain said softly. He listened to the scuffs of receding footsteps, the soft sound of the door closing behind them. The dreadful, waiting silence.

He leaned his head against the edge of the stone mantle, warm from the fire, closed his eyes. He felt the need to pray. The Canticle of Trials seemed... appropriate.

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond, for there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost..."


	3. In The Dark

He went down to the dungeons before first light, having been unable to sleep all night. More than once he'd almost risen from his bed to order the death of the apostate, only to recall Elthina's words to him and sink back among the crisp white sheets of his bed, mourning her loss anew and trying to think of what action she would have judged right to take in regards to the mage.

He found his thoughts turning again and again to his years in Kirkwall, assisting Hawke, often spending his free time socializing with the warrior and his companions. They'd been a good team, and Hawke had possessed a real flair for getting them to work together, even when some combinations of them proved less... amicable, than others. Sebastian had particularly enjoyed the times spent working alongside Fenris, Aveline and Varric. Even Isabela had been entertaining, reminding him as she did of his own early years. She'd once said it was a pity they hadn't met then; he was more than half-inclined to agree with her. No, it was only Hawke's association with the blood mage and the abomination that had truly concerned him. They were... an unwise association.

Yet he knew Anders had done good work in Kirkwall, saving hundreds of lives in his years of residence there. If only he'd confined his activities to nothing worse than healing the sick, helping the desperately poor, he'd have been an admirable man. But his obsession with the plight and rights of mages, and the actions that had in the end led him to take...

No. Whatever good he'd done had been most thoroughly negated by his more recent actions.

"Would you like an escort, m'Lord?" the guards at the dungeon entrance asked as they unlocked the door to let him in.

"No, I do not fear him," he said easily, lifting a torch from a nearby bracket before ducking through the door and starting down the winding stairs.

The dungeons had been only very rarely used in his father's time, he knew; he himself had been one of the few occupants, his enraged father making a point about a particularly foolish stunt he'd become involved in while drunk. It had come perilously close to causing a man's death; his father had been less than entertained, and his grandfather had refused to see him for a full week after his father finally released him from the cells. That had been the only part of the punishment that had truly hurt; he'd stopped caring about his father's punishments some years before.

He reached the hallway at the bottom, walked slowly along it, torch held on high, peering in through the barred fronts of each cell. Even so, he almost missed seeing Anders; the mage was sitting on the floor, wedged into a corner at the far end of the narrow wooden platform depending on chains from one wall that did triple duty as seat, table and bed. Only the gleam of torchlight off of blond hair caught his eye, made him notice the man before moving on.

"Anders," he called, stepping to the bars and holding up the torch.

A bowl and a pitcher sat on the near end of the platform, the pitcher still full nearly to the brim with water, the stew in the bowl cold, congealed, and untouched.

"Anders!" he called a second time, louder.

The mage finally moved, lifting his head and blinking owlishly at the torch. He was shaking as if taken with an ague, his face even paler than usual.

"Are yeh all right, man?" Sebastian asked, startled by his appearance.

Anders blinked, then slowly ran a hand down his face. "Sorry. I don't do well in dungeons," he said faintly, then abruptly leaned over and retched, spitting dark bile out onto the straw-covered floor.

Sebastian frowned, and shouted for the guards. They came at a run, and were relieved to find it was only because he needed the door unlocked, not that he was under attack. He passed one the torch to hold, and hurried over to lean down and feel Anders' forehead, thinking him ill.

It was not heated, but clammy and cool to the touch. Sebastian grabbed him by the arms, and hauled him to his feet. He was shaking even worse now, fit to rattle his bones, as Sebastian's old nurse would have said.

"Don't... _please_... don't hurt me," the mage whimpered, eyes wide and staring, turning even paler and sagging in Sebastian's grasp.

Sebastian bit back a curse. Didn't do well in dungeons? Something Anders had once said in Kirkwall, snapping at Fenris, came back to him – something about a year spent locked up in solitary. He almost groaned, then, thinking what torture being locked in the quiet dark down here must have been to the man. _He_ had merely found it restful, and rather boring, during his few days in a similar cell.

"Help me get him out of here," he brusquely ordered the one guard who still had both hands free. But as soon as the man moved closer, Anders let out a heartbreaking cry of fright, his bladder voiding on his robes, urine soaking into it and spattering onto the floor. Sebastian grimaced in distaste.

"Back away, both of yeh!" he snapped at the guards, and got one of Anders' arms over his shoulders, his own arm around the man's waist. It took considerable effort to get the mage moving, his feet dragging and stumbling along the floor and up the stairs. He kept him moving, down the long hallway away from the dungeon entrance, until they reached the sizable guards-room at the far end, hauling him across it and out an exterior door into the small practise yard outside, where the sky was just lightening towards dawn.

He lowered Anders to the ground, then knelt before him. The man's eyes were wide and staring, and he was shaking violently. Sebastian glanced at the two. "Either of you have a flask? No? Then you, run and fetch some strong drink."

The man nodded and hurried off. Sebastian patted an Anders' cheek. "Hey. Anders. It's all right, man, you're outside now, under the sky again," he said, keeping his voice calm and gentle. "Look up, Anders. You're not locked in the dark any more."

Anders blinked at him. He set his fingertips against the man's chin, tilted his head back. The mage stared up at the slowly lightening sky. Blinked again. Then abruptly took an almost explosive breath of air and began crying, silent save for his ragged breathing.

The guard returned with someone's hip flask. Sebastian opened it, and held it to Anders' lips. "Drink," he ordered. Anders took a swallow, then gagged, spitting some of the drink back out. "That's not _water!_ " he sputtered.

"I never said it was," Sebastian pointed out. "Drink again," he ordered, and saw a good few swallows into the man before he'd let him stop. Anders' colour was better by then, though he still looked ghastly and stank of urine and vomit. "What just happened?" he asked quietly.

Anders shivered, and closed his eyes, his entire body hunching and tightening, as if flinching from a blow. "Old memories. Bad old memories. That's all," he said roughly.

Sebastian frowned, then sighed. "I suppose I have no reason to think you'd tell me – we've never exactly been friends, have we?" he said dryly.

Anders opened his eyes again. The corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly. "Rather the opposite," he agreed, voice equally dry.

Sebastian snorted, then rose to his feet, and gestured the guards back over. "Take him indoors, get him cleaned up, then bring him to me," he ordered, and turned and walked away.


	4. Sentencing

He'd just sat down for his breakfast when the guards returned with Anders. It was... _strange_... to see the man dressed in something other than his ratty old robe with the feathered shoulders, with his hair loose, still damp from bathing. He frowned at him, noting how gaunt the man was, remembering the untouched food and water in the cell, and gestured to a nearby chair. "Sit. Eat," he ordered brusquely.

Anders short him a wary look, but moved to the indicated seat. A servant appeared to put a plate and cutlery before him before he'd even pulled in the chair. He hungrily loaded his plate from the serving dishes in the middle of the table. The kitchen here did not seem able to produce food in any quantity shy of a meal for at least four; used to dining simply in the chantry, Sebastian was finding it hard to deal with the enormous meals that regularly appeared before him here in Starkhaven. He had a nasty suspicion that the cook would be offended by a request for simpler, smaller meals, and was reduced to merely hoping that his leftovers did not go to waste.

Though judging by the way Anders was loading down his plate, there might be considerably less leftovers than usual after today's breakfast, anyway. The amount of food the smaller man could put away, and the intensity with which he packed it in, was almost frightening. He remembered, then, that Anders was a Grey Warden, and that they were reputed to have prodigious appetites.

It was only when he'd started in on a second helping that Anders seemed to recall his surroundings, and looked up, eyeing Sebastian. "Is this the proverbial last good meal prior to execution?" he asked warily.

"No," Sebastian said, pushing his own plate away, and sitting back in his chair. He frowned thoughtfully at the apostate.

Killing the mage for his crimes might satisfy his longing for vengeance, but it would do nothing to bring back the many dead in Kirkwall. If he wished to punish the man, torture him, for what he'd done, it would obviously take nothing more strenuous than to lock him up and throw away the key, and leave him in the dungeons until his own fears and madness killed him. Yet that, too, would do nothing of real use with him. And Elthina had always hated seeing people, things, or skills wasted – witness how readily she'd allowed him to travel abroad and assist Hawke, rather than seeing his skills as an archer go to waste. No. There was only one use he could think of for this man, that would in some small way begin to make up for the terror and deaths he had caused, that the results of his actions in Kirkwall were still causing.

He drew a long breath. "A place will be made for you here," he said, speaking calmly, in measured tones. "A space put aside where you are to organize and provide a free medical clinic such as you ran in Dark Town. Let me know what staff and supplies you require; I will see they are provided. Starkhaven is already seeing refuges beginning to arrive here; the dispossessed from Kirkwall are likely just the first of many to come. Many of them arrive here already injured or sick; you are to see to it that they are healed and cured."

He rose from his seat, paced back and forth for a moment, then turned and faced Anders again. "You will be guarded at all times. You will be confined to the castle grounds, and except at my word will be allowed nowhere but your rooms, your clinic, and an outside area where you may take such rest or exercise as you like. You are _forbidden_ ," and he allowed his voice to rise a little now, some of his anger to show through, "To talk to anyone about any subject beyond what is required to diagnose and heal them, and to use any magics but healing magic. You are most _expressly forbidden_ to talk to _anyone_ about events in Kirkwall, your part in them, or your views on mages, templars, circles, the chantry, rights, and freedom. _Is that clear!_ " he all but roared at the end.

Anders flinched away, shrinking in his seat. "Yes," he said, very quietly.

Sebastian nodded. "Remain here for now," he said, voice calm and measured again. "Eat your fill."

He turned to the guards. "You are due relief soon? Inform them of the terms he is being held under. When he is finished eating he may be allowed to either remain in here, or let out in the practise yard where we were earlier, if he wishes. Have him brought to my study in three hours time, by then I should have decided on more long-term arrangements for where he is to be kept."

"Yes, m'Lord," the senior of the guards answered.

He turned to leave.

"Sebastian..." Anders called out.

He stopped and turned. "What?" he demanded.

Anders briefly met his eyes. "Thank you," he rasped out, then glanced uneasily away. "You are... more merciful than I expected you to be."

Sebastian snorted, then turned and left. It was not mercy, he told himself. It was salvaging what little good he could out of the man.

It was only later, as he walked the castle grounds with his seneschal, looking for a suitable place to put a publicly-accessible clinic, that he realized Anders had fully expected him to kill him. Had perhaps even been _hoping_ for him to do so.

All the more reason to keep him alive, perhaps, if he found living so torturous that he _wanted_ to die.


	5. Quarters

Sebastian walked silently across the castle grounds, the apostate and his pair of guards behind him. He led the way to an old stone stable, built in one corner of the outer wall, its L-shape blocking off a small yard, with a sally-port from the yard to the outside through the base of the tower in the corner of the wall. A small archway was cut through between the foot of the L and the wall, only just big enough for a single mounted rider or two men abreast to pass through, with a heavy portcullis that could be lowered to block it off. He ducked through the passageway into the yard, and then gestured at the low building surrounding them.

"It will need cleaning, but I believe this would make an adequate location for a clinic," Sebastian said, glancing at Anders. "Patients could come and go through the sally-port without impinging on the remainder of the castle. It is a fair size, and well-built of good solid stone with a slate roof."

"May I see the inside?" Anders asked, softly.

Sebastian nodded, and walked over to the main door of the stable, a sizable wooden double-door big enough for a waggon to enter, set in the short foot of the L, and opened a smaller door set within one leaf of it, leading the way into the darkened interior. Most of the foot was a single large open space, one end of which – the end backing onto the archway they'd entered the yard through – was walled off as a tack room.

"This area would have been used for storing a small carriage and for tacking up the horses," he said. "It should make a good working area for you. Medicines and bandages and so forth could be stored in the old tack room."

He turned and walked over to the long arm of the L. A wide corridor ran along the inner wall, with narrow shuttered openings at intervals along it, the outer wall lined with box stalls that ran up to the ceiling overhead. "These stalls could be converted into rooms to keep patients who needed to be cared for overnight or longer," he said, and gestured at a ladder upwards. "There is a large space that was a hay loft above, and a small dormitory where the stable boys or grooms would have lived. Whatever staff the clinic requires could make their home up there, assuming they do not have their own lodgings down in the city."

He turned and looked at Anders. "Will it do?"

The mage turned a slow circle, looking at the stout stone walls, the smoothly cobbled floor, the stoutly-built wooden box stalls. "Yes. It will do very well," he said, voice sounding a little choked. "Far better than the space I had in Dark Town."

Sebastian nodded. "I will order it cleaned and readied then. Come. I will show you where you shall be living," he added, and walked back out, closing the small door behind them.

He walked through the archway, and back towards the main keep at the centre of the grounds, leading the way around a high wall to a small door. He opened it, and stepped through, into the overgrown remains of a walled garden. Tucked in against the outer wall of the keep was a small cottage, built with thick dry-laid limestone walls and a thatched roof, looking not much different than the cottages that dotted the hills of Starkhaven beyond the city proper, though unlike most such cottages it had windows of real glass, the glitter of the panes visible behind a shutter that was hanging ajar.

"I am not the first Prince of Starkhaven to have a colourful past," Sebastian said, looking around at the weeds and the tangle of wild flowers and bushes. "My great-grandfather married for politics, not love. He and his wife, it is said, grew to loathe one another. Quite cordially, but once she'd given him heirs, she asked permission to live separately from him. He agreed, and she moved into her own household down in the city. After that he had this cottage built for his common-born lover to live in; maintaining the wife's dignity by not flaunting the lady-love within the castle proper, but convenient enough that he could easily spend time with the woman whenever he wished. Or so my grandfather told the story. Anyway, the cottage is in reasonably good shape, and more than large enough for you. It and this garden will be your prison. Within these garden walls is the only place you will be free of your guards; they will guard the gate we entered by. Elsewhere, they will remain at your side at all times."

He turned and looked sternly at Anders. "This is for your own protection as much as to imprison you. Emotions are running high against mages among many these days, and there are likely those among the refugees who might recognize you as the healer of Dark Town, and may even be aware of your role in the devastation there. The guards will see that none manage to take revenge on you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Anders said, quietly.

Sebastian nodded. "Good. It will take some few days to prepare this cottage and the stables for your use. In the meantime you will stay in a small set of chambers in the keep proper I will see that you are supplied with paper and ink; write out what you think you will need for the clinic."

He turned and walked back out of the garden. Anders took a final look around its overgrown wilderness, then followed him away.


	6. Regrets

Anders walked silently through the rooms he'd been given for now. They were very plain, almost monastic, with bare stone walls and bare wooden floors, apart from a small rag rug on the floor beside the high, narrow bed. There were three rooms; the first, and largest, was a small sitting room with a simple fireplace, a small table with a matching wooden chair, and a worn but comfortably-overstuffed armchair. The fireplace was set into a wall shared with the small bed chamber, a room just barely wide enough for the bed and rug, with some hooks set into the wall for clothing to be hung on. There was also a tiny convenience off of one corner of the main room, with a lidded garderobe in one corner, and a small tin tub in the other near a drain in the floor. He assumed water had to be called for and brought up from elsewhere in the castle.

Compared to the converted closet with a ragged drape of cloth he'd lived in for years off of his Dark Town clinic, it was palatial. But then, it was _in_ a castle, the palace of the ruling family of Starkhaven, so even if it was meant to be quarters for an upper servant of some kind, or a poor relation or some such, it stood to reason that it was of considerably better size and quality than a space carved out in the bowels of Kirkwall.

Not as nice as the room he'd shared with Hawke, perhaps, but... No. He would not think of Hawke. It hurt too much still, the memory of the incomprehension, the _loathing_ , on the warrior's face when he'd learned what Anders had done. He stepped over to the table, forced himself to sit down and pull close a sheet of parchment, uncork the bottle of ink, pick up one of the quills sitting ready. His hand was shaking as he dipped it, but he ignored that, and carefully set pen to parchment, inking in a list of things the clinic would need.

Health potions and poultices. Lyrium potions, for when he had to do a healing that required more power than he could supply himself. Beds, or at least cots or pallets, for patients to rest on. A table for doing examinations on. A second table, stone-topped by preference, for surgeries. Bandages. Needles. Thread, of silk or gut, for sewing up wounds. Strong drink, the harshest, strongest rot-gut that could be found, for sterilizing wounds and instruments. Instruments! Sharp knives, a good saw in case he had to perform amputations. Staff... someone to prepare potions and poultices, if they could find the raw materials. People willing to care for the sick, to see them cleaned and tended and fed, in the hours when their own family – if they even _had_ family – were unable to care for them. At least three, he thought, so there could always be one on duty. No, make it six, so there'd always be at least two available. If he was going to dream, he might as well dream big.

He filled several sheets in the end, remembering things he's longed for, cursed the lack of, during his years in Dark Town. Everything from better lighting down to someone to prepare invalid food for the sick.

He was feeling calmer again by the time he'd finished, and moved to sit in the armchair near the fire instead, staring blindly into the flames.

He'd come here expecting death. Wanting it, if anything. Maker, what he and Justice had _done_ in those final days in Kirkwall...! He buried his head in his hands, fighting back tears. He'd known Justice – _Vengeance_ – was wrong, that the spirit was pushing him to do things that didn't always make sense from a human standpoint, but at some point he'd stopped saying no, stopped fighting the spirit, given in and let it have its way. As long as he still got the few things that meant anything to him by then. Time to care for the sick in his clinic, precious hours spent with Hawke, the very rare time he was able to just relax, and spend time with everyone at the Hanged Man, pretending for a little while that he had a normal life, with friends who liked spending time with him. He sometimes thought that he'd hated Fenris and Sebastian so much because they were so damned _good_ at reminding him that he and his life was anything but normal, and that he was merely _tolerated_ for Hawkes' sake, not liked for his own.

And then he'd lost Hawke. And then he'd lost Justice, too. The spirit's final words still echoed in his ears, shook him to his very core every time he remembered them. _We have erred_. Repudiating _everything_ the spirit and he had done in their long years together, making a mockery of what little good he'd still hoped might come out of their actions in Kirkwall. _We have erred_.

He sank back in the chair, hands pressed to his face. If he was a slightly braver man he'd have killed himself after Justice abandoned him, he thought. He'd actually been considering it, as he sat on a trail twisting over the Vimmark mountains north of Kirkwall, the waters of the Wakening Sea just barely visible on the southern horizon from his high perch. Until he'd remembered Sebastian's outburst, when Hawke had told him to run away, and not look back.

"No! You cannot let this abomination walk free!" the Prince had cried out, striding forward, his voice raw with hatred and grief. "He _dies_ , or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I am bringing such an army with me on my return that there'll be _nothing_ left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule."

"Do not interfere, Sebastian," Hawke had said, his own voice a low rasp, harsh with pain.

"You're the one that taught me that it is the _ends_ that matter, not the steps you take to get there," Sebastian had shot back, bitterly. "I _swear_ to you, I will come back and find your precious Anders. I will teach him what _true_ justice is!"

Sebastian had stormed off. Anders rose, and in a hollow voice thanked Hawke for sparing his life. He did not turn to look at him; it would have hurt, too much, to see the look on the face of the man he loved, who'd once loved him, and did no more. He walked away.

He didn't look back. It was almost two weeks later before an encounter with a merchant caravan and a group of refugees picking their way along the high paths beyond Sundermount gave him and Justice word of happenings since the explosion of the chantry. The mages of Kirkwall were mostly dead; the Champion had sided with them, but many had been killed in the initial fighting between mages and templars. Hawke had been forced to flee the city soon afterwards, and between vengeful townsfolk and what remained of the less temperate templars, any mage foolish enough to remain behind and openly show what they were was ruthlessly slaughtered.

The larger uprising Justice had foreseen was even then beginning – and already going far astray of what he'd thought the human response would be. He'd thought humans would see the lack of merit in the chantry and its teaching about mages, that the revolution beyond the initial destruction would be largely peaceful. He had failed to understand issues such as _faith_ ; it was not logical. Or the power of emotions like grief and love and _fear_ ,and all the other illogical things humans and elves and dwarves felt and believed.

And so the rebellions and counter-attacks had already begun, the massacres and pogroms, the assorted vile atrocities that man worked against man when hatred and fear ruled. Their destruction of the chantry had lit a spark, indeed, but it was no simple torch of freedom they had raised. They had lit a raging forest fire, instead, one that was consuming chantry and templars, circles and mages, commoners and nobles alike.

_We have erred_. And the spirit had faded away, died down, banked its fires, _vanished_. Leaving him more devastatingly _alone_ than he'd been since that year in solitary in the distant past in Kinloch Hold. He'd considered death. He'd remembered Sebastian's words.

And so he'd walked to Starkhaven, travelling as many hours each day as he could force his tired body to walk, crossing the passes of the Vimmark mountains and then northeast through Wildervale. He'd thought surrendering to Sebastian would at least prevent the man from adding to the destruction at large in Thedas. That the man would put an end to his pitiful, _useless_ life.

And instead... mercy, of a sort. Unlooked for, unhoped for, even unwanted. It seemed he was to live, after all – live, and care for the sick, as he had in Dark Town. The stables Sebastian had shown him would make a fine clinic, far better than he'd ever dreamed of having. And with the _ruler_ of Starkhaven backing it, seeing that it was well-stocked, well-staffed – Maker, he would never in his wildest dreams have imagined that such a thing was even _possible_.

All this, from a man he'd cordially detested for years. From a man who _hated_ him, despised him for what he'd done, had likely wished him dead with every fibre of his being for his actions in Kirkwall.

He couldn't understand it. And yet he was going to have to live with it.

He was going to have to live. That was, perhaps, the most painful realization of all.

He wondered if Sebastian knew that killing him might have been kinder.


	7. Accommodations

Time weighed heavy on Anders' hands. A servant had shown up with food for him at one point, and taken away his list and the leftover parchment and writing implements. There was nothing for him to _do_ in these rooms, nothing but sit or pace, and think, and the company of his own thoughts was not currently one he particularly desired.

In mid-afternoon he thought to open the door and ask the guards if he might be taken outside for a while. They led him through the castle to the same small exercise yard off a guardroom where Sebastian had taken him after removing him from the dungeon. That was almost worse than being alone with his thoughts; being reminded of how easily he'd fallen apart from just a single night locked away, alone in the darkness.

He could still remember how rapidly the fears had overtaken him after he'd been shoved into the cell, once the guards had walked away, taking the only light source with them. At least the cells under Kinloch Hold had been lit, most of the time. It had been when someone purposefully doused the lights that he'd had to worry. Those were the bad times, when someone came who didn't want him to be able to recognize them, identify them.

He'd sat curled up in the darkness all night, awake, every muscle frozen, ears straining after every whisper of sound, fearing it would be the old nightmare again, the clink of armour approaching in darkness, hearing his cell door being unlocked, _feeling_ them smite or silence him, and then being unable, helpless, to protect himself from whatever the man entering wanted to do to him.

He remembered how _relieved_ he'd felt when light had finally returned to the cell. Relieved to see _Sebastian_ , of all people. The weakness that had overcome him, how he'd shaken like a leaf as his muscles finally relaxed from their night-long clench. The relief had been almost as bad as the fear had been; it had been all he could do not to go completely to pieces, to _beg_ Sebastian to do anything to him – kill him, torture him, _anything_ – as long as he didn't leave him locked in the dark again. And then the overwhelming fear, when one of the guards moved too close, the sudden nearness of an armoured figure too abruptly reviving the memories that Anders had been fighting off all night.

He'd blacked out for a while, not returning to himself until he'd found himself outside, someone's calloused fingers pressing against his chin, forcing him to look up at the slowly-lightening sky. _Sebastian's_ fingers, he'd been shocked to discover, as the man accepted a flask from one of the guards and made him drink, showing a level of bluff kindness toward him that he would never have expected from the man.

It hadn't been until Sebastian rose, ordered him cleaned and looked after, and walked away, that he'd become aware of the reek of his own body and clothing, and known just how shamefully far he'd fallen apart in front of the man. If he could have sunk through the stones of the yard out of sheer embarrassment, he would have. Instead he'd shakily risen to his feet, head swimming from the combination of exhaustion and strong drink, and meekly let the guards lead him away in search of a bath and clean clothes.

He forced himself to stay in the yard for a little while, walking slow laps of its bounds, before finally asking to be taken back to his rooms. He spent the remainder of the afternoon sitting quietly in the armchair in the room, hands knotted together in his lap, trying _not_ to think, to remember. He wasn't particularly successful at it.

There was a knock at the door, then it opened and one of the guards leaned in. "Prince Vael sent word that you're invited to dine with him tonight, ser," he said.

Anders blinked at him for a moment, surprised. First that the man had bothered to knock first – he was a prisoner, after all, not a guest. And second that the order had been phrased so politely – and he had little doubt it was an order, regardless of however prettily it was phrased. He rose to his feet, tugged the hem of his tunic straight, smoothed suddenly-damp palms against his thighs. "Now?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice calm, not a frightened squeak.

"Yes, ser," the guard said.

He followed him out of the room, the second guard falling in step behind him, and let them lead him to where Sebastian waited.

* * *

Sebastian looked up as the door to the room opened, admitting Anders. The guards remained outside, with his own. Anders hesitated, looking uneasy, before walking over to take the only other seat at the small table.

"I've been reading over the list you wrote up," Sebastian said, nodding to a stack of parchment to one side of his plate. "I have some questions about it."

Anders nodded, sitting quietly in the chair, his plate and cutlery untouched before him. Sebastian frowned at him. "Eat up, man," he ordered, and took a bite of his own food before leaning over to peer at the list. "Why a stone-topped table, in particular? What's that for?" he asked curiously.

"Oh. For surgery. It's easier to keep clean than a wooden-topped one," Anders said, picking up his plate and beginning to fill it. "The cleaner you keep your tools and table, the more likely the patient is to survive. Less chance of infection."

"Ah, that makes sense," Sebastian said, nodding, and went on to question some of the other entries, turning over pages as he worked his way through the list. He nodded approvingly when they'd reached the end. "It's very well thought out. I cannot guarantee that I can supply all of that, but I will see what I can do," he said, then leaned back in his chair, frowning at Anders. "Is there anything you need while the clinic is being prepared? Is your room adequate?"

Anders gave him a faintly surprised look. "Yes. Very adequate," he said, and bit his lip for a moment. "Could I have more writing supplies? Or... do you have any books I might read?"

Sebastian frowned slightly. "I can see you're given writing supplies, if you promise me you will not be using them to churn out yet more copies of that damned manifesto of yours," he said sternly.

"No, no manifesto," Anders said softly, hunching in on himself slightly. "I just... need something to occupy my time. Writing a journal, or drawing..."

Sebastian nodded, guardedly. "All right then. I'll see that it's taken care of. Are you finished eating?" he added, looking at Anders' now-empty plate. "Good. Follow me," he said, rising to his feet and leading the way back out to the hallway, his and Anders' guards falling in behind them.

He walked down the hallway to a set of tall double doors, and threw them open, leading the way into a large, high-ceiling room, a full two stories in height, circled by a wide balcony accessible by a spiral staircase in one corner of the room. The walls at both heights were lined with shelves, heavy with books, folios, manuscripts, and scrolls, the centre occupied by a grouping of comfortable seats. The far wall was a single huge bay of windows, a large desk centred in front of them.

"The Vael library," he said proudly, and gestured at the shelves surrounding them. "I am sure you can find a thing or two worth reading among all of this."

Anders was staring around the room, eyes wide with surprised delight. "Andraste's grace...! I've never seen a library this large, outside of the Circle..."

Sebastian shrugged, wandering over to a nearby bookshelf and running his hand along the spines of the volumes shelved there. "My family has long valued literacy. Every generation had added on to the collection here," he said, and felt his lips twist into a slight smirk. "Some of them had interests that were quite... exotic. When I was younger I used to sneak in and spend time with some of the more, ahh... _erotic_ works some of my ancestors had gathered."

Anders gave a short laugh. "I can recall the mages doing the same in the tower. There was a particular book on erotic magic, with illustrations, that always seemed to be in circulation rather than on it's shelf."

"Erotic ma... no, I don't want to know," Sebastian said firmly. "Anyway, you may spend time reading here in the library. Materials are not to leave the room, and be careful not to mar or mis-shelve them; the archivist is rather a tyrant about such things," he said dryly.

Anders nodded "Of course," he said, turning a slow circle to take in the room.

"I'll see writing materials are brought to you shortly," Sebastian said. "In your rooms." A dismissal.

Anders nodded. "Thank you," he said, humbly, and walked off, his guards pacing off after him.

Sebastian turned away, walking over to the desk before the windows, moving around it to take a seat in the huge, padded leather chair behind it. He set his hands lightly before him on its empty top, then pushed them further apart, feeling the smooth cool surface sliding smoothly beneath his palms and fingers. How many times had he been summoned here, by his grandfather, and stood or sat across this desk from him while the old man, twisted and crippled by a riding accident years before Sebastian was even born, had sat in this chair and questioned or lectured him. He'd always known if his grandfather was feeling unhappy or pleased with him by whether he had to stand or was allowed to sit; sitting had become increasingly rare in the final few years before his grandfather had died.

One of his very few regrets was that their last interview had been an angry one, grandfather furious about one of his latest escapades. He couldn't even remember which one, now, the years having blurred them together, a succession of drunken, debauched nights, foolish pranks, pounding hangovers and being barked at by grandfather and coldly ignored by everyone else. Only how incensed the old man had been over the waste he was making of his life.

"And what other purpose do I have for it, other than to waste it?" he'd asked bitterly in return. And it had seemed true at the time; his eldest brother was the heir, his second-eldest was the spare, and already in training to be his eldest brother's strong right arm as leader of such armed forces Starkhaven boasted. And he... was the unwanted extra. The son that should have been the daughter.

He'd been relegated to the chantry during his grandfather's final illness. Had not been here to see him die, to watch his pyre burn, his ashes scattered. Had only received a single short, unsigned note about it, well after the fact, in a strong, blocky hand that wasn't his father's fine cursive script. He thought one of his brothers might have written it, but he and they had known each other so little he couldn't even be sure of that.

The only sign of any care about his thoughts or feelings he'd ever had from any of them, save his grandfather. And then they'd all been slain. He'd outlived them all – father, mother, both brothers – and now _he_ was Prince of Starkhaven, something he'd never wanted.

Yet that had changed, the moment he returned and saw the familiar grey stone buildings of the city rising up before him, the castle perched on its high hill dominating the landscape, backed by the rolling hills and the distant mountains of the land that was now _his_. His land. _His_ people, to guard and guide.

Even then he'd known that he would not carry through on his oath to Hawke, that his words, spoken in an extremity of anger and grief, were an empty threat. Especially in these dark times, his people needed him _here_ , leading them, protecting them, not traipsing off across the landscape in search of the apostate. Whatever army he did raise would be to protect these lands, not to go afield from them.

Which made it all the more inexplicable that the Maker had then seen fit to drop the apostate into his hands.

He drew a deep breath, sighed, and rose to step to the window, pressing one hand to the cool panes as he gazed out into the darkness. He would just have to trust that there was a reason, a purpose, behind the mage being here.


	8. Plain But Serviceable

It was several days later before Anders saw Sebastian again. He spent the intervening time quietly, writing and sometimes sketching in the mornings, a walk of several laps around the exercise yard after lunch, then reading in the library until evening. His meals were served to him in his rooms; simple food, probably the same as whatever the servants ate, but in decent quantity for satisfying Grey Warden hunger – the kitchen had apparently been informed of his prodigious appetite, he thought ruefully. Another example of Sebastian taking more thought of him and his needs than he ever would have expected from the man.

On his third day in the rooms the servant returned with a bundle when he came to clear the breakfast dishes. "Beg pardon, ser," he said. "Prince Vael ordered that you be provided with additional clothing. These should fit. You're to be brought to speak with him again later this morning; would you like the bath filled?"

Anders coloured slightly. His years of living in Dark Town had made him forget niceties like keeping himself clean and regularly washing out his clothes. He had a nasty suspicion that the servant was delicately hinting that he was getting a little riper than was acceptable among the inhabitants of the castle. "Please," he said, and accepted the bundle. "Thank you."

The servant nodded, and left. A stream of servants trooped in a few minutes later carrying metal cans of heated water, quickly filling the tub – clearly his acceptance had been assumed ahead of time. The final man brought in a tray of toiletries – soap, a washcloth, a razor, and so on. He bowed to Anders. "Will you require assistance with your bath?" he asked.

Anders quickly shook his head. "No, thank you, I can manage," he said softly.

The servant nodded, left the tray on a ledge near the tub, and departed with the rest.

Anders quickly stripped down, bundling up his stained clothing and putting it aside for washing later, and stepped into the tub. It wasn't particularly large, he had to sit up with his legs bent to get into it, but compared to the small cracked basin he'd taken hurried cold-water washings from with a damp rag back in Kirkwall... Granted there'd also been the occasional use of the much more palatial tub in Hawke's mansion, but that had been a rare treat, even with him all but living in the mansion after they became lovers. He'd usually arrive at the Amell estate tired and drained, from either a long day in his clinic, or a long day out somewhere with Hawke. They'd had so little time to spare, they'd often just ignored their filthy state and fallen into bed together. And once he woke, there was the clinic to get back to, and Justice's demands in his head, grumping about wasted time, so he'd usually just dress and dash off again...

He drew a shaky breath, not wanting to think about Hawke. Or Hawke's bath, or how Hawke had been the first person he'd _allowed_ to see him naked in years. How shamed he'd felt, those first few times, refusing to strip down any more than what was required for them to bring the relevant bits into contact. The first time he'd gotten drunk enough to allow Hawke to strip him naked, the shock and then... not _pity_ , thank the Maker, pity would have broken him – the _grief_ in Hawke's eyes as he'd seen the scars for the first time.

How _gentle_ he'd been, taking Anders that night, not avoiding the scars, not making an issue of them, just... loving him. They had never spoken of the scars, but just knowing that the other man knew they were there, guessed what had caused them, and was not repulsed... that it _didn't_ change how he touched him, how he held him, how he looked at him afterwards... it healed something in Anders that had been broken for a long time.

And made it hurt all the more, that he'd lost him, driven him away.

He blinked his eyes rapidly, and poured a pitcher of water over his hair, then lathered it up, breathing in a deep, appreciative sniff of the scented soap. He wasn't sure just what the scent was; not floral, or sweet, or spicy... something sharp but pleasant, an outdoor sort of scent. He rinsed several times, then cleaned the rest of himself, carefully and thoroughly, revelling in the feeling of being clean all over, from the top of his head to down between his toes. He even shaved, carefully, scraping the scruff on his cheeks and chin off by touch since he was lacking a mirror of any kind.

He rose finally from the cooling water, towelled himself dry, then retreated to the bedroom to sort through the bundle for suitable clothing. It proved to contain three pairs of leggings, one of wool and two of butter-soft leather, several different shirts of cotton or linen cloth, new smallclothes, stockings knit of both wool and fine cotton, soft leather slippers for indoor wear, heavier boots for outdoor wear, a warm woollen cloak... more new clothing in this one little bundle than he'd owned since fleeing Ferelden. He'd become used to wearing well-worn cast-offs, hiding their multitude of stains, thinning spots, and patches with his increasingly ratty old robe. He shook his head ruefully, and picked out an outfit, rapidly dressing again.

He returned to the main room, ducking back into the convenience for a moment to search the tray for a comb – and yes, one had been provided – then settled down in the chair at the table to work it through his hair, picking apart the tangles and smoothing it out. He left it loose to dry, putting the comb aside and drawing a sheet of parchment close, doodling a few simple sketches to fill time until there was finally a knock on the door, and one of the guards leaning into the room to let him know it was time to leave.

He nodded, rising to his feet, taking just a moment to fasten his hair back in a ponytail before following the man off to Prince Vael's apartment within the castle.

* * *

Sebastian nodded in greeting as the apostate walked into his study. "Anders," he said, and was pleased to see that his quiet word to a servant after noticing a certain... _indelicate_ amount of odour in the library yesterday evening, after Anders had spent the afternoon there... had clearly been followed up on. The man was freshly bathed and in clean clothing, smelling of nothing worse than juniper-scented soap. He cleaned up well, Sebastian had to admit, and could understand to some degree why Hawke had been so taken with the man. He was certainly handsome enough, if still rather on the gaunt side, that Sebastian would have been quite willing to give him a second look during his own younger, wilder days.

"Sebastian," Anders acknowledged warily. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," Sebastian said. "The cottage is apparently ready for you to move into. I thought we would go down to inspect it together, and then you can move your things there this afternoon, assuming there is nothing still in need of work."

Anders blinked a couple of times, then slowly nodded. "Isn't this the sort of thing you should be... delegating?" he asked finally.

Sebastian smiled thinly. "Probably. But I could use an excuse to get away from behind this desk for a little while. And it's been many years since I last saw the inside of the cottage... I used to sneak out and play there, sometimes, when I was very young. Come," he said, and headed out of the office, sweeping Anders and their guards along in his wake as he led the way downstairs, outside, and around to the entrance to the walled garden, again leaving the guards behind at the entrance to it, interestedly examining the small shelter he'd had built there so that Anders' guards could watch over the gate in some degree of comfort.

Some of the overgrowth in the garden had been hacked back, enough so that workmen had been able to come and go from the cottage without being savaged by overgrown berry or rose canes, or tripped by the vines, roots, and clumps of weeds that dotted the uncleared pathways. The shutters and door were gleaming with fresh paint, a rich blue in colour, the broken shutter properly re-hung, the old thatching replaced with bright new straw. The ridge was trimmed in an attractive pattern of scallops and points, fastened down with a decorative network of battens.

Sebastian smiled as he looked it over. It was a lovely little cottage. He darted a glance at Anders, and was pleased with the almost stunned expression on the man's face as he looked over it over. "Let's go see what they've done inside," he suggested, and walked over to open the door.

It had been thoroughly cleaned inside, the wooden floors sanded down smooth and then rubbed with wax and oil until they gleamed. The walls bore a fresh coat of whitewash, which in combination with the wide windows flooded the interior with light, at least during those times of the day when the cottage wasn't in shadow; it was against the south-facing wall of the keep, so that would be much of the day.

The cottage had four rooms. The first, and largest, taking up much of the ground floor, ran from a large fireplace in the end wall of the cottage to the other side of the front door, the area around the fireplace floored with good slate tiles and set up as a small kitchen, the remainder of the room set up for dining, with ample shelves and cupboards and a box-bench for storage. The opposite end of the cottage held a sizable bedroom with its own separate, smaller fireplace, a short hallway running between the two, the remaining bit of space given over to a bathing chamber rather more substantial than would normally be found in a cottage. But then, the ruler had made use of it as well, when visiting his mistress, one would assume; the tub, carved of fine marble, was certainly large enough for two to occupy profitably, and had its own spigotted boiler on a raised firebox to one side, to make heating water and filling the tub easy. There was also an enclosed earth-closet, a bucket of ashes standing ready to use beside it.

A narrow stair led up to the space under the step-pitched roof, lit by a pair of dormer windows, and set up as a study, with a desk, some scattered comfortable seating, and an empty bookshelf, most of the floor hidden under a large braided rug. A tiny fireplace at one end shared the chimney of the bedroom fireplace.

The bedroom was simply furnished, containing a large four-poster bed with plain sheets and hangings, a few colourful pillows tossed onto the deep window ledge which could double as a seat. There was ever a solidly-built enclosed cupboard built into one corner of the room, with hooks on the inside of the door and walls to hang clothing on, and a washstand near the door with a plain but gracefully shaped pitcher and basin, a small silvered-glass mirror hanging on the wall above. The furniture, all of plain, solid wood construction, had been well cleaned and rubbed with beeswax to a fine polish.

"The furnishings are a little plain, but serviceable," Sebastian said approvingly, looking around the neatly furnished bedroom, and was surprised when Anders burst into laughter. He turned and looking at him, puzzled by the man's reaction. "What?" he asked.

Anders sputtered for a moment, before he caught his breath enough to answer. "If I ever needed proof that you were born a prince... that was it. This! _Plain!_ " He roared with laughter, folding his arms around his stomach and slid down to sit on the floor, cackling away with tears in his eyes and rocking back and forth, he was laughing so hard.

Sebastian looked around the room, puzzled. It still looked plain to him. Then he found himself remembering the space Anders had occupied in Dark Town, the meagre closet of a room – less than half the size of the smallest room in this cottage – that had served as his bed chamber and study both. Merrill's tiny hovel in the alienage... that awful house in Lowtown where Hawke's Uncle Gamlen had lived, that the entire Amell-Hawke family had squeezed into for some time. Even Varric's rooms in the Hanged Man, and Varric had been a wealthy merchant prince, though admittedly one with low tastes... all had been of considerably poorer quality than this well-lit, sweet smelling, right and tight little cottage.

He snorted, and then found himself smiling slightly as he compared this to even his own monastic cell in the chantry – and found this cottage a sizable improvement over it. "All right, I take your point," he said. "I suppose it it rather larger, cleaner, and better-appointed than the average cottage usually is," he said, then turned and frowned down at Anders. "It is still, nonetheless, your prison. I'd have left you to eke out a living in the dungeons, these days past, if I hadn't seen how that would render you unfit for any purpose."

That stopped Anders' laughter, cutting it off as abruptly as it had begun. "I know," he said quietly, and looked away. "You have have been... far gentler with me than I had any reason to expect. I thank you for it."

Sebastian shook his head. "It is not due to any merit on your part," he said coldly. "But only because I can see that a healer would be of use to Starkhaven." He paused, lips pursing for a moment. "Grand Cleric Elthina always hated waste," he finished quietly, then turned his back on the man and stalked out of the room.

Anders followed him quickly, looking much more sober than he had when they'd first entered the cottage. Sebastian didn't stop until they were out in the ruined garden again. He stood a long moment, looking at a small weed-choked pond in what had once been the centre bed of the garden, before turning to face Anders again. "See to moving your things here after you have lunched. If you need help, ask for it; the servants have little enough to do much of the time, with just me and themselves to look after and clean up after. It will be a while yet until the clinic is ready for you to begin work; keep yourself occupied until then. You may still visit the library when you wish, though for exercise you now have this garden to use."

Anders looked around. "It must have been beautiful, once," he said softly, looking at what little could be seen of the winding pathway, the pond, the tangled stands of long-overgrown flower beds.

Sebastian shrugged. "Probably. It has been a wilderness like this for all of my life. Do with it whatever you wish."

He glanced a final time at Anders. "I will send for you again when the clinic is ready for an inspection," he said shortly, then turned and walked off towards the gate.

Anders stayed where he was, diplomatically allowing the Prince plenty of time to put space between them before he, too, left the garden, and returned to his rooms in the castle for the last time.


	9. Curiosity

Sebastian opened the door, and stepped into the empty room, looking around. Little sign remained of Anders' occupancy of these rooms over the last few days; for someone who could be so careless about his own personal cleanliness, the man actually had quite neat habits, he'd noticed. He walked through to the bedroom – the bed already stripped back down to a bare mattress by the castle servants, the bedding taken off to be washed – then back out to the main room.

He wasn't sure what had drawn him here, now that the man had moved down to the cottage. Curiosity, maybe, though it was clearly going to be unsatisfied curiosity, given how nothing of his remained. He glanced around a final time, then stopped, catching sight of some crumpled parchment in the ashes of the fireplace. Discards of Anders' writing, he assumed, and frowned, stepping over and crouching down to retrieve them, carefully shaking them clean of ashes before flattening them out, curious about what the man could have been writing, and earnestly hoping it was not more seditious claptrap like that blighted manifesto of his.

A few short lines were scrawled on one page, meaningless fragments of sentences. An attempt at poetry, maybe. A large blotch spoiled the page; he wondered if that was why the page had been discarded, or if Anders had given up on the poem.

His eyebrows rose as he looked over the other two pages. Sketches, most little more than rough doodles and caricatures, really, but quite recognizable. Hawke's face, Varric's, a templar's helmet, Hawke again, drawn in profile this time. Fenris's spiky gauntlet and feather-cut leather vambrace. A cat, curled up sideways and partially rolled over on its back, belly exposed, asleep. A dwarven woman with stubby pigtails, and intricate facial tattoos forming a skull-like pattern. Hawke, again, looking away over his shoulder. Isabella, looking even more well-endowed than she actually was. A flower of some kind. Another cat, back arched and mouth hissing angrily, a mouse-sized templar running away from it. A surprisingly detailed sketch of a sparrow grooming the underside of one half-open wing. A dark-haired man, his hair hanging down in two thin braids to either side of a saturnine face. Hawke again, laughing, mouth open and head thrown back.

He rubbed his thumb gently over a water-stain on the page, one that had blurred a drawing of another cat, this one tabby-marked, before carefully folding the two sheets together, and putting them away in his belt pouch. He tossed the ruined poem back among the ashes, then left the room and strolled back to his own apartment, frowning thoughtfully.

The man confused him. He had already noticed, in the few times they'd spoken together since Anders had surrendered, that he seemed a changed man. Which was to be expected in the wake of events in Kirkwall – it had changed all of them, he was sure – except that the way Anders had changed made him believe, more than any words the man had spoken, that he had not lied about Justice being gone. Anders seemed... quieter, far less self-assured, vulnerable and frightened where once he'd have been angry, belligerent – stubbornly, pig-headedly _certain_ that he and only he knew what was _right_. What was just. The old Anders he would have known how to deal with. This new, changed Anders... he shook his head.

He reached his rooms, took the papers out of his pouch and locked them away in one drawer of his desk. He sat down, planning to get some more work done on drawing up plans for dealing with the increasing flow of refuges into and through Starkhaven, but found his mind wandering to the previous occupant of these rooms instead, his grandfather Alexander Vael, and his unfortunate cousin Goren, briefly Pretender of Starkhaven.

When Sebastian had returned to the castle, he'd had his choice of suites in the royal apartments. He'd quickly decided he had no interest in occupying the rooms his parents had used, that had in turn been occupied by his distant cousin Goren after Lady Harriman had put his distant cousin on the throne. His grandfather's rooms had seemed the best alternative. It was comforting, to live in these rooms that reminded him so strongly of the only relative of his who'd ever seemed to care for him, sleeping in the same bed, using the same study, eating in the same small dining room. He wondered what his grandfather would think of him, of how he'd changed in his years away. He hoped the old man would have been proud of him.

Goren had, wisely, retreated to his country estate when he received word that Sebastian had decided to return to Starkhaven and reclaim the throne. Without the backing of the Harriman family, his hold on the throne had been a precarious one at best; he'd proven to be an ineffectual ruler, easily pushed around by the nobles, the guilds, and the chantry, leaving Starkhaven to drift like a rudderless ship for much of his brief tenure. Judging by the letters he'd sent Sebastian since his return, he'd been _relieved_ to be deposed, to see the throne return to the rightful line.

Sebastian had decided in the end to pardon the man, though he'd ordered him to keep to what was essentially house arrest on his estate. He'd need an heir, eventually, and the man had married several years ago and produced children – two boys and a girl, the two youngest being fraternal twins, and none older than a toddler yet. Unless he wanted to produce an heir of his own, at some point he'd need to choose one of Goren's children, or that of some other equally distant cousin, to be named and raised as his heir. And while his vows of chastity had originally chafed, he had to admit after years of following them he felt very little interest in the idea of marriage and family life, nor did he have any inclination to return to his previous libertine ways. Oh, true, if a suitably advantageous political alliance was presented and seemed necessary, he would likely carry through with it, but he felt no urge to actively seek out a suitable marriage partner.

He sorted through some of the papers on his desk, got a very little more work done, then sighed and pushed his chair away from the desk. He just wasn't in the right mood to get more work done right now, and knew from experience that unless it was an emergency, it was far better to take a break and do other things for a while than force himself to work. It would go much more smoothly once he was properly relaxed.

He'd fetch his bow, he decided, and go practise his archery for a while, something he'd neglected far too much of late. He walked into his bedroom to get it from where it rested on pegs over his armour stand, smiling for a moment at the sight of the white-enamelled half-plate and scale mail outfit he'd won for so many years. He should put that on, too, he decided, or he was going to become unused to bearing the weight of it. He stripped off his shirt and soft leggings, stepping over to the clothes press to find leather leggings and a padded gambeson, more suitable and comfortable to wear under the armour.

It brought him near the window in the south-facing wall of his room, not a particularly large one, but the only one in the keep that overlooked the walled garden below that he given over as Anders' prison. Apparently the great-grandfather who'd occupied these rooms before his grandfather's tenancy of them, the one who'd had the cottage and walled garden built, had disliked the idea of any but him being able to overlook his lady-love's garden – which would also have impinged on his own privacy when with her. Any other window that chanced to have a view of it had been bricked in, leaving only this single high window looking down on it.

Curiously, Sebastian wandered over to it while pulling on the gambeson, then looked out and down. Movement caught his eye; Anders, picking his way along one of the overgrown paths, occasionally stopping to crouch down and examine a plant. He wondered if the mage was going to attempt tidying up the garden at all. From up here he could see the pattern the winding path made through the greenery, pick out where a garden of some kind – for vegetables or herbs, perhaps – had once grown at one end of the cottage, the overgrowth there of a markedly different texture and shade than the remainder of the garden. He could even pick out where benches and a small structure of some kind lurked among the swarming greenery.

Even as he watched, the gate opened, admitting a pair of servants, one carrying an array of gardening tools, the other pushing a barrow. They called out to Anders, making him aware of their entrance. He turned, waved in acknowledgement, and they left again, closing the gate behind them. Sebastian sank down to sit on the broad window-ledge, watching Anders work his way to where the tools had been left, looking them over for several minutes before carrying them off to the cottage and leaving them against the wall near the door. He selected a few of them, and set to work clearing back the overgrowth closest to the cottage, where the workmen fixing it up had trampled down the weeds and things closest to it.

He watched him working for a while before suddenly recalling his original purpose on entering the room, and abandoning his seat to go finish dressing in his armour. He frowned as he did up the straps; they were overly tight, and he had to let out the waist fastenings by an extra hole on each side from what he normally required. Too much time spent sitting behind a desk, sorting out the mess left by Goren, and the steadily increasing problems as the trickle of refuges swelled.

He would resume wearing the armour regularly, he decided, and make sure to take exercise for a while each day that he could manage it. Picking up his bow and a quiver of arrows, he headed off to the archery butts. He wasn't surprised – annoyed, but not surprised – to find that his accuracy was down from his usual standard. Armour, exercise, _and_ practise, he promised himself.


	10. Settling In

Sebastian sat down on the window ledge, and glanced outside. Anders was working on the garden again; he was making fairly decent progress, for one man working alone. The area immediately around the cottage had been cleared, and he'd started trying to reclaim the pathways from their overgrowth. Sebastian watched him at work for a couple of minutes, then turned his attention to the crumpled sheets of parchment in his hand. He'd given instructions that any pages the man discarded were to be discretely gathered up by the servant assigned to clean the cottage each day, and brought to him.

Only occasionally was it writing; either he rarely discarded the written word, or he was spending more time on drawing than on setting down his thoughts. Sebastian scanned quickly over the few pages with any writing on them. A recipe of some kind – judging by the ingredients, which included elfroot, deep mushroom, and lifestone it was some kind of potion or poultice. He frowned over a notation at the bottom, and after a while gave up on puzzling it out – the man's hand devolved to unreadable chicken-scratches when he was scrawling instead of writing neatly. The next page seemed another (bad) attempt at poetry. The third seemed to be a letter of some kind, though by the opening salutation it was obviously one never meant to be sent – 'If I were ever to really write you, I'd want to tell you...'.

He assumed, at first, that it would be directed to Hawke, but that assumption quickly floundered when the letter referred to names and places that had no familiarity to Sebastian from anything he could ever remember hearing about the Champion's friends and adventures. Blackwater? Sigrun? The letter must be directed to someone else from Anders' murky past, he was forced to assume. He frowned out the window, watching the man at work as he struggled to cut back a stand of rose canes without being savaged. It appeared that the rose canes were currently winning the battle.

Sebastian snorted, and returned his attention to the pages in his lap. Drawings, now. Hawke, as before, featured predominantly in them. Hawke, and cats. There was one of Merrill too, with a nastily ominous scrawl of shadow rising behind her. A sketch of an interestingly shaped leaf. A study of a left hand; Sebastian assumed it was Anders' own by the careful detailing of skin folds and shadowing on it. A doodle that looked like the carved sign outside the Hanged Man. A tiny sketch in one corner of a mouse, sitting up and nibbling on a crumb of bread. More of Hawke on the next page, and bits of vegetation, things he guessed Anders had seen in the garden – leaves, flowers, weedy growths. Down at the very bottom between a fern leaf and another drawing of Hawke was a not very complimentary one of Sebastian himself, his face more arrogant and cold than he'd have ever pictured himself looking. He wondered if that was how he really appeared to others.

He put the pages aside at last, and leaned against the window for a while, just watching Anders at work, before finally sighing and rising to his feet, and returning to the study to resume his own work.

* * *

Anders bit back a curse as the rose cane sunk thorns into his hand for the _nth_ time since he'd started trying to cut the cluster back from where it overhung the path. He gritted his teeth, finished cutting through the thick stem, and tossed it carefully aside, then sucked at his punctured hand for a moment before calling forth a wisp of healing magic and smoothing the wounds shut. He should probably see about getting some good thick leather gloves to wear; there were worse things he might put his hands into in this mess than just a bite-y rose bush. Stinging nettles or poison ivy or some similarly noxious plant could easily be lurking among all the overgrowth here.

He glared at the remaining canes, and shook the shears in his hand at them. "Don't think this is over yet, you!" he muttered, and turned away, walking along the bit of pathway he'd cleared so far, back to the cottage. He was overheated and hungry; time to stop for lunch.

He drew himself some water from the well, and carried it inside, pouring some of it into his kettle, swinging it over the coals in the main fireplace before carrying what was left in the bucket to dump in the boiler in the bathroom; he knew he'd want a bath this evening, after working in the garden all day, and he might as well get a start on filling it up. He carried a few more bucketfuls in while waiting for the kettle to heat up. Once it started steaming he put the bucket aside, and got down the big mug he liked to use, carefully measuring in a small amount of tea and setting it aside, ready for the hot water, while he unwrapped the cloth from around a loaf of bread and cut a couple of thick slices, toasting them on a long fork over the coals before spreading them with some fragrant soft cheese. The kettle was hot enough by then to be poured over the tea, and he carried the mug and a slice of bread over to stand in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb while he ate and sipped his tea and looked out over the garden.

He wasn't going to finish clearing it any time soon, that was for sure. But he found he enjoyed the labour of it, outdoors with the sun and the wind, working with his hands and not his magic. Besides, as long as he was focused on the work, he wasn't thinking too much about other things. Like Hawke. Kirkwall. Amaranthine, even before that.

Or how damnably quiet this garden and cottage was, with no one here but himself. He was almost desperately glad to see the servant who came in once a day to clean the cottage, carry off the contents of the earthcloset, and restock his tiny kitchen. Proof that people still existed beyond the walls of this beautiful little prison. This existence would almost have been idyllic, if only he'd had someone here to share it with. _Hawke_.

He swallowed a lump that wasn't bread and cheese, and turned away from the door. He'd better get back to work. He carefully washed out and put away his mug first, emptied the dregs of the kettle into the boiler, and dusted the counter clean, making sure he'd properly re-wrapped the bread, before going back out to the garden to resume his battle with the rose canes.


	11. Precautions

Anders looked up sharply at the sound of the garden gate creaking open. It wasn't the right time of day for it to be the servant...

"Anders."

"Sebastian," he acknowledged, slightly surprised to see the man wearing his white-enamelled armour again, the first time he could recall seeing him wearing it since he'd arrived here. "The clinic is ready then?"

"Getting there. I thought you should see how it's coming along, and see if you can think of anything that needs changing, before the work is finished."

Anders nodded, and stripped off the heavy leather gauntlets he was wearing, dropping them and the pruning shears in the barrow nearby.

Sebastian was looking interestedly around. "You're doing good work out here," he observed.

Anders shrugged. "It's something to do," he said guardedly, and picked his way over to the cleared stretch of path, following it around to where Sebastian waited just inside the gate.

* * *

They walked to the stables, both remaining silent until they walked inside. Sebastian smiled, seeing the freshly plastered and white-washed walls where there'd been rough stone and wood before, the stone floor scrubbed as spotlessly clean as in any dairy, the neatly arranged tables and benches for an examination area, one end of the large space newly walled off for a surgery, so the more disturbing procedures could be taken care of out of sight of other patients.

He turned a circle, hands on hips, then looked enquiringly at Anders. "What do you think?" he asked, proudly.

Anders was gaping like a fish. He took a few steps further into the room, and paused, just looking around, then walked over to look into the surgery before finally turning back again. "It's... incredible, Sebastian," he said, sounding choked. "How much longer until it's ready to use?"

Sebastian shrugged. "A day or two, perhaps – there's mainly just moving things in left to do, which as you can see they've made a good start on," he observed. "It's already well-enough stocked that you could undoubtedly start any time, really," he added, walking over to what had been the tack room, and opened the top and bottom halves of the door to show the neatly set up little shelves full of potions, poultices, bandages, splits and other paraphernalia. He nodded at a small heater, counter and sink set along the inner wall, under the single narrow window that let in light from the yard outside. "You can make up potions and things right here," he pointed out. "Or train someone to make them for you, if we can't find anyone already skilled in herbalism to do the job. I've found a retiring guardsman with some experience at field medicine to assist you in the clinic itself; just the one assistant to start for now, we'll look to hire more depending on how busy it gets."

Anders nodded, looking dazed, and followed along behind Sebastian as the Prince happily gave him a tour of the remainder of the facility, the box stalls already being fitted out as space for overnight patients.

"I've told them to only put in one cot to a stall for now, and we'll keep extra cots stored in the loft space upstairs; in an emergency I think we can fit four or five to a stall. And I've had them turn the stall at the far end into a bathing chamber – just a good drain under the floor, some buckets and a small cistern, and a couple of earth closets, but I remembered what you said about cleanliness being important, and thought you likely meant cleanliness of person as well as of tables and instruments."

Anders nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I should have thought of it myself."

Sebastian smiled. "Good. Come upstairs, and see what has been set up for your live-in staff. All one of him," he added, sounding mildly amused, and led the way to where a narrow staircase had been fit into the space between the surgery and the first of the box stalls, replacing the ladder that had once been the only way up to hay loft.

A large chunk of the loft had been walled off to make a storage area, already partly filled with stacks of the cots Sebastian had mentioned, as well as blankets and other bulky supplies. The remainder had been fitted out as a small kitchen and eating area, then beyond that was the dormitory where the stable staff had once lived, neatly set up as a sleeping area for whatever staff the clinic acquired.

"It's wonderful, Sebastian," Anders said. "I honestly can't think of anything that needs improvement."

Sebastian nodded, looking pleased. "Good. I was thinking we would start slowly at first, with you just spending a couple of hours a day here. Doubtless people will be hesitant to make use of the clinic at first, and then once word of mouth spreads you'll be quite busy dealing with people for a while." He frowned darkly. "And it may get worse, eventually. So far Starkhaven has been lucky, and seen comparatively few refugees; the Vimmark Mountains between us and Kirkwall meant that most people from there fled in other directions than north, only a trickle came over the passes. But I've already heard of serious unrest in Ansburg, downstream from us, and Wycome, Bastion, and Hercinia along the coast... if refuges begin coming up the Minanter in any number, we'll see them here. Worse, the headwaters of the river are in Orlais, and there is definitely widespread unrest there as well. We may well see refuges flooding in from both east and west, with us caught in the middle."

Anders frowned. "Forgive me if I find it very hard to care much about what is happening in Orlais," he said, an edge of coldness in his voice.

Sebastian gave him a dark look. "Why? Because the chantry is based there?" he asked sharply.

Anders' lips thinned. "Partially that," he agreed angrily. Then shook his head, straightening up. "I was raised in Ferelden; my parents had moved there when I was just a child. Orlesians are not well-regarded in Ferelden, as you're undoubtedly aware. I share fully in the dislike of my adopted countrymen for them."

Sebastian nodded, accepting the point; Starkhaven, like much of the Free Marches, had hosted Fereldan refugees during the Orlesian occupation of their lands; that was before his own time, but he recalled his grandfather speaking of the immense hatred the evacuated children and exiled nobles had felt for the temporary overlords of their country. The memory of those times would not fade for some generations, he had predicted.

"Well, regardless of any enmity you feel to Orlesians in general, you _should_ care about the possibility of us seeing an influx of them here," he said, moving to rest his hip on the table, looking intently at Anders. "The refugees we have taken in so far have already filled the city to capacity; if more continue arriving, we may well find ourselves dealing with crowded, squalid refugee camps, with all that means in terms of violence and disease."

Anders frowned, and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "A good point," he agreed. "Some of it you can prevent if you move to prepare for refugees _before_ they arrive in any real numbers."

Sebastian nodded in agreement. "I am already doing that; I've been drawing up plans for how to handle any large influx – where camps might be sited, things like that. The chance of violence I hope we can stave off merely through things like establishing regular patrols _before_ outbreaks of such begin to occur, and punish any perpetrators rigorously; make it clear that Starkhaven _will not_ tolerate people breaking the peace. In truth it is the risk of things like more wide-spread unrest, or an outbreak of disease, that worry me most."

Anders nodded. "Camp discipline," he said. "You have an army of some kind, right?"

Sebastian tilted his head curiously. "Yes, we do. A small one. What do you mean by camp discipline...?"

Anders smirked for a moment. "I would guess you've had little to do with your army if you don't know what that is. It means things like making sure your slit trenches are well away from and preferably downstream from any water supply you plan to use. That the men keep themselves clean. Cleanliness encourages good health; filth and waste encourage disease. We don't know why it works that way, just that it does. That is why diseases like cholera spread so terribly fast once they get a hold in a population," he added, looking bleak for a moment. "Just coming in contact with the filth from a sick person seems able to infect others. That bad summer in Kirkwall five years ago..." he shook his head.

Sebastian nodded. He remembered that summer. The heat, and the stench of the sickness and the already-dead rising in almost choking clouds from the caverns of Dark Town. A very bad summer indeed. Far worse for Anders, he realized, who had been down there in the bowels with the dead and dying, trying to save them. "I would not want to see such happen here," he said softly. "Any advice you can give me, that would help prevent it, I will gladly take."

"I'll write up some notes for you," Anders offered. "If you speak to your army surgeons and sergeants, they can also tell you some of the ways they deal with quickly housing large numbers of people – don't bother asking the officers," he added, lips twisting in a crooked smile. "Officers never know anything really important about running things. And you should plan a quarantine area – an isolated place where anyone who arrives already obviously sick, and anyone travelling with them, can stay while recovering, so they don't infect others. That will help too."

Sebastian nodded. "A good thought," he agreed, then abruptly rose to his feet. "Let us go back. I have much to think on. I may want to talk with you more on this later."

Anders nodded. "I am, of course, at your disposal," he pointed out ironically.

Sebastian snorted, but found himself smiling nonetheless.


	12. First Day

Anders nervously rubbed his palms down his thighs, peering one last time into the small mirror on his bedroom wall to make sure his hair was neatly pulled back, his cheeks scraped smooth and clean. He wanted to look respectable on the first day of the clinic. He glanced nervously at his clothes again – clean, neat, but by Andraste's delectable arse was he ever missing his familiar old robes at the moment; he'd have felt a lot more relaxed and comfortable in them.

As he walked out of the cottage and along the path to the garden gate, he wondered if he could get some robes made, if he asked nicely. Probably not - he suspected Sebastian would disapprove highly, and might even take it as some sign of Anders wishing to return to his rebellious, mage-underground roots. Better not to ask, he decided glumly. He drew a deep breath, and rapped on the gate. It swung open a moment later, his guards having obviously been waiting for him. He smiled and nodded at them, but didn't bother trying to draw them out into conversation; the guards assigned to him had made it pretty clear early on that they took Sebastian's words about him being forbidden 'to talk to anyone about any subject beyond what is required to diagnose and heal them' as meaning no fraternization at all with anyone.

Even the servant who came to clean the cottage had made it obvious he was unwilling to talk to, or even listen to Anders, beyond asking few rote questions about Anders' preferences for what foodstuffs the kitchen was kept stocked with, and did he prefer to cook his own meals, or have them delivered from the kitchens in the keep. He'd settled on preparing his own breakfasts and lunches – usually simple meals of things like tea, bread, cheese, fruit, occasionally porridge or bacon or sausages – and having his dinners delivered.

He found himself worrying, as he crossed the yard to the main door, if he's be allowed to speak to his assistant at all, and smiled wryly, imagining how difficult it might be to work with someone he was forbidden to talk to. He opened the door and stepped inside, and stopped, surprised to find Sebastian there, talking intently to an older man. Sebastian noticed his entry right away, and turned to acknowledge him.

"Anders. I thought I would come visit and see how the first day went. And introduce you to your assistant," he added, nodding to the grey-haired man at his side. "This is Dugall. Dugall, Anders."

Dugall nodded in greeting at Anders. The two men looked each other over.

His new assistant looked to be in his forties, or possibly well-preserved fifties, with short-cropped steel grey hair, eyes so dark a brown they looked black, and skin a weathered tan, with deep crow's feet and smile-lines. He had a strong, angular chin and a wide blade of a nose – a no-nonsense sort of face, Anders thought.

"Prince Vael tells me you're a healer?" Dugall asked curiously, his voice soft and unexpectedly deep.

"Yes," Anders agreed. "I've been trained in both magic-based and traditional healing. Sebastian said you knew field medicine?"

Dugall nodded, standing easy and relaxed. "Aye; enough to sew up wounds, apply poultices, set breaks, that sort of thing."

Anders nodded. "If we're lucky, that will be about the extent of what we'll be needing to do, most of the time. It's usually better to let the body heal at its own pace than to force things with magic, but there are things that would kill a patient otherwise that magic can help with. And then, of course, there are also things that even magic can do nothing for," he added soberly.

Dugall nodded, then looked back at Sebastian attentively. "Anything else I should know, m'Lord?" he asked.

Sebastian shook his head, then looked at Anders. "Well, I will get out from underfoot and let you two get to work. The tower guards are under orders to begin letting people in through the sally-port shortly, assuming any show up to make use of your services." He wandered off down the hallway, inspecting the stalls that had been converted to rooms.

After the Prince had withdrawn, one of Anders' guards moved closer to him, making it subtly clear he was there to, among other things, make sure Anders stuck strictly to business in his conversations with Dugall, while the second guard moved to stand against the wall by the door, relaxing back against it.

Anders chose to ignore their presence, and leaned back comfortably against the examining table, before beginning to quiz Dugall about the extent of his experience, eventually moving on to questioning him on how he'd treat different minor injuries and infections. He was pleased to find the man reasonably knowledgeable; judging by his answers he also had an organized, logical way of thinking about problems and answering questions, and was not easily flustered. In his years of running his clinic in Dark Town, Anders had often found this was just the sort of person who usually made an excellent assistant. He had to admit he found himself feeling quite pleased with Sebastian's choice.

The guard at the door cleared his throat, getting their attention. "I believe your first patient is approaching, sers," he said.

* * *

Sebastian leaned against the wall at the top of the loft stairs. From here he had a good view of the large examining area below, and could see and here everything Anders did. He'd listened with half an ear to the mage's questioning of Dugall, and been pleased that the man seemed to be meeting the apostate's approval. Not that he'd have particularly cared if the man hadn't pleased Anders, but if there was one good thing to be said about the mage, it was that he _was_ an excellent healer.

He watched, now, as Anders examined the worried-looking fieldhand who'd come to have an infected cut in his hand looked at. He was pleased to see Anders using it as a teaching opportunity with Dugall, having him inspect it a well and give his opinion on a couple of likely treatments, before the mage agreed with most of his suggestions and explained a slightly better way of dealing with cleaning out the suppurating matter. Then he put the anxious labourer back at his ease with a joke, and dealt with the wound himself, Dugall watching closely for most of the procedure, having the man finish off the stitching once he'd started it and then bandage the wound as well, obviously so Anders could judge the man's prowess with the task.

He gave the man a quick talking-to about the necessity of keeping the wound clean, and what signs he should watch for before either coming back to have further attention paid to it, or to have the stitches removed. The man nodded gratefully, and went on his way. Anders and Dugall talked intently for a while longer about the method Anders had used, and then went off side-by-side to peer into the tack-room-turned-apothecary-supply and discuss their supplies, and what if any training Dugall had in making up potions or poultices himself. Which turned out to be almost none; he knew enough to grind up elfroot for a crude poultice if he ran out of preparations, but nothing about proper preparation of anything else that could be derived from it.

Anders next questioned the man briefly about his cooking skills, of all things, the purpose of which momentarily escaped Sebastian, at least until Anders regretfully shook his head at Dugall, a slight smile on his face.

"If the best you can usually make is stewed tea and burnt bacon, I'd daresay we'd be best off not trying to teach you the arts of the apothecary," Anders told the man. "The arts of the kitchen and the still-room unfortunately have rather a lot in common."

Dugall laughed at that. "Best off not to then, yes," he agreed in good humour.

A second patient arrived then, an old woman with a tumour on her throat. That Anders dealt with by magic, the woman looking wide-eyed with fright while Dugall looked on interestedly. The woman was smiling and happy when she felt her throat afterwards and found the swelling much reduced. Anders instructed her to return every few days for a while, as it would take more than one treatment to eliminate it entirely.

"Now _that_ was something I wish you could teach me," Dugall observed, sounding a little awed. " _That's_ something no normal healer can hope to duplicate."

Anders nodded tiredly; he was visibly wilting from the amount of energy it had taken to do what he could toward healing the growth. "Sometimes magic is of no use against such cancers either," he admitted. "Some seem fairly benign, as that one thankfully was, and others... some of them seem to have an ability to seed themselves throughout the body, and if you don't catch them prior to that point, the task becomes impossible. It's like the difference between being on the spot when a fire begins, and being able to douse it with a single bucket of water, or facing a raging inferno with no possibility of saving anything."

Dugall nodded, then frowned. "It's tired you," he pointed out.

Anders nodded again, and moved to sit heavily on a bench nearby. "Yes. There is only so much magical energy I can gather and expend in a given amount of time. A healing like that requires a lot of it. If I have a while to rest, my reserves will replenish. Or if there was an emergency, I could take a lyrium potion, but overuse of those is dangerous."

Dugall frowned in thought for a moment, then nodded. "I think I understand what you mean, ser. It's like when we'd camp near a small spring-fed pond; water only flows so fast. If we try to water all the men, and fill the kettles, and water the horses or mules or oxen all at once, we can drain it near-dry. But leave it alone a while and it refills."

Anders smiled and nodded. "Exactly. And if you had it on hand and needed to for some reason, you could pour a barrel of water into the empty pond bed to refill it quickly. But it's best to let the pond refill itself, and to avoid draining it dry."

They treated another couple of patients – a feverish child, and another injured fieldhand – before the two hours the clinic was to be open were over. Anders and Dugall said a cordial farewell, Dugall heading off to gather his belongings and move into the space over the clinic, now that he'd been formally accepted by Anders to work there.

Sebastian descended from the loft. "That was a good start," he observed, hiding a smile as Anders started, having clearly forgotten he was still present. "Join me for lunch. I would like to ask more about those notes on sanitation you sent me yesterday."

Anders nodded warily. "Of course," he agreed.


	13. Theological Concerns

Sebastian hid a frown as he rose from his seat to greet his latest visitors. Ever since the clinic had opened he had been expecting this moment. What he hadn't expected was that the Revered Mother of the Starkhaven chantry would choose to attend on him herself, rather than merely sending one of her senior priests as a representative, or requesting him to attend on her as was currently well within her right to do.

"Revered Mother Glynis," he rose in greeting, stepping down from the low platform and going down on one knee before her, acknowledging her as his superior in the chantry. "Your Grace," he said, humbly.

She smiled warmly at him. "Brother Sebastian – _Prince_ Vael – this is not necessary," she told him, and offered him her own hand to help him back to his feet, and then in her turn bowed her head to him as ruler of Starkhaven.

He smiled back with equal warmth. "I suppose it is a confusing situation for both of us, this rather unique combination of states I currently exist in."

Brother in Faith _and_ Prince... Grand Cleric Elthina had taken his priestly vows herself, and no lesser cleric could set them aside, not even a Revered Mother. She had freed him of many of them, when his parents had died and his future path had become uncertain, but he still remained a Brother, with some standing within the chantry hierarchy. With her dead, and the Divine in Val Royeaux having yet to set another Grand Cleric over the Free Marches, only the Divine herself could currently release him from his remaining vows. And since she undoubtedly had more important things on her mind at present than the confused theological state of the ruler of one remote Free Marches city-state, his peculiar mix of religious standing and secular powers was likely to stand for some while yet.

"Please, have a seat," he added, and signalled for a servant to bring a second chair to stand beside his own, seeing her into it before resuming his own seat.

She waved her attendants to retreat away down the room, leaving them to talk in relative privacy. "I am sure you can guess why I have come to speak with you today," she said quietly.

He nodded, settling back comfortably in his own chair. "The apostate Anders."

"Yes," she confirmed, mouth thinning. "I have been made aware by some of the refugees we have taken in that his role in the events in Kirkwall was... substantial. That it was he that planted the device that destroyed the chantry and killed so many."

"I fear it is true, your Grace."

"And yet you give this mage _sanctuary_ here," she said, frowning, an edge of anger in her voice; as had all the Revered Mothers in the Free Marches, she had known Grand Cleric Elthina well – known and loved her, as he had.

"It is not sanctuary," Sebastian quietly corrected her. "It is imprisonment."

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "And yet he walks freely about, and runs this... _clinic_... of his, where he may well contaminate the faithful..."

Sebastian shook his head. "No, your Grace, he does not walk freely. He is guarded at all times, at all hours. He sees no one but myself, his guards, and the workers and patients at the clinic, and is forbidden to speak freely to any but myself. _I_ oversee the running of the clinic – with input from him, yes, but only because he is a talented healer with much previous experience of running a similar facility."

"And yet he is guilty of the deaths of many."

"A guilt he can never wash off, and that his death will not lessen one dram, nor bring back a single one of the lives he destroyed. Yet working as a healer he may in time save enough lives to make restitution in some small degree for what he has done. Alive, he may achieve some redemption; dead, he does nothing."

Her eyebrows flew upwards. "You believe he can _balance_ this killing with an equal weight of saving? Like a merchant in the market, trading souls instead of gold and wheat?"

"Not quite, no. But I do believe there was _purpose_ in him showing up here when he did, and not his own. I..." he frowned. "You know I was close with Grand Cleric Elthina while I lived in Kirkwall."

Glynis nodded. "Yes. We spoke of you once, before your parents' deaths. She spoke quite highly of you."

Sebastian smiled. "Probably more highly than I deserved at the time – I fear I was a trial to her for many years. Anyway, when I returned to Starkhaven I found a letter waiting for me from her – she foresaw that I would in the end decide to become ruler here, before I ever had settled the question myself. She spoke of the need for peace, for me to put aside anger and not seek vengeance. When Anders arrived... I would have killed him, then, in my anger for his role in her death, if not for her words in that letter. _Her_ words saved the life of the very man that murdered her – can I doubt that there was not some purpose behind that moment? More, there is... something else I should tell you of," he added, frowning thoughtfully. He pursed his lips for a moment. "Your Grace, I hesitate to ask this, but the nature of what I want to speak to you of... it is important that you know, and yet in many ways it is not _my_ secret to be telling..." he trailed off.

"Are you asking that it be treated in the nature of something spoken of in a confessional, then?" she asked, with some degree of suspicion.

"I... no," he said. "Not quite. Just that I ask you think well before sharing this information with any other. It is potentially... quite disturbing, theologically speaking."

Glynis nodded, and folded her hands together on her lap. "All right. What is it of which you wish to tell me, my son?"

He smiled, appreciating that she had placed them on a formal religious footing with her words. It calmed his own nervousness. "You know that there are spirits in the Fade, not just demons, but spirits that seem to embody... metaphysical concepts, abstract values such as faith, honour, mercy, and justice?"

Glynis nodded. "I am aware of the debate about the existence or lack of it that such hypothetical beings might have, yes."

"Some years ago in Amaranthine one such spirit was supposedly forced out of the fade and into a body in _this_ world, the corpse of a recently deceased man. I know not if it was truly a spirit, or merely a demon. It claimed to be a spirit of Justice. Anders was present in Amaranthine at the time. He and this... spirit... became friends, of a sort. As its lifeless body wasted away, he offered to host it in his own living flesh."

Glynis went very still. "You are saying this man Anders is not just an apostate, but an _abomination!_ " she asked intently.

" _Was_ an abomination, yes, if that is indeed the proper term for man and spirit, and not just man and demon. Judging by the creature's later actions, I would judge it is likely a proper term for both – I certainly never hesitated to name him such during our years of association in Kirkwall."

Glynis closed her eyes, squeezed the bridge of her nose for a moment, then turned a very serious look on Sebastian. "Are you telling me you _knew_ he was possessed and did _nothing_..."

Sebastian raised one hand. "Yes. There were... what seemed to be extenuating circumstances at the time. I had known him for some years before I even even learned about his... possession... and once I did learn of it, I was conflicted as to what to do about it. From what I saw of his actions at the time, he was doing... much good in the world. Did you ever hear word of a man referred to as the 'healer of Dark Town'? That was he. And now I regret every day that I did _not_ move to see him... dealt with. It would have prevented much pain and suffering," he said bitterly.

Glynis nodded. "I have heard one or two of the refuges speak of such a man, yes – none mentioned that he was a mage," she said, then frowned. "You said _was_ an abomination. Does this mean you do not believe he is one any more?"

"I... believe he may have been abandoned by the spirit or demon, yes. He is a very changed man from what he was in Kirkwall. More than I believe can be explained by the events he was involved in by themselves. In Kirkwall he was... a driven man. _Obsessed_ on the subject of mage freedom, bitterly outspoken about the chantry in general and templars in particular – I have seen him confront both Grand Cleric Elthina and Knight-Commander Meredith with his views, to their very faces. Neither moved against him – I have never been sure why. Meredith once intimated it was because of his association with the Champion, Hawke – yet she was aware of him long _before_ Hawke ever became Champion. That is in part why I hesitated to take any independent action against him – that they knew of his existence, and seemingly ignored it."

"His days were spent in near-unceasing labour, either healing the sick in his clinic, assisting Hawke in his ventures, or writing out copies of a treatise he referred to as his 'manifesto' which laid out his arguments for why he believed mages deserved more freedom and that the dominion of the chantry over their lives was a great evil. The spirit seemed to control large parts of his life – I have seem him work until he was literally dropping where he stood, under its influence." He paused and frowned before continuing again.

"Since he arrived here, and surrendered himself to me... he is not the man he was. He seems almost broken, _fragile_ in ways he never was in Kirkwall. Where before he was adamantly outspoken, now he is hesitant, quiet. This was a man who slept by choice in a windowless closet of a room barely bigger than his pallet, and yet _one night_ locked in a cell in the dungeon here nearly broke him. I have his discarded writings brought to me; it is no manifesto he tries to write any more, but things like recipes for salves and potions, poetry, letters to people from his past. He spends most of his time either working in the garden of his prison or drawing, and now performing good works in the clinic I have had made."

Sebastian looked at Glynis. "I know that there have been mages freed from abominations before; Elthina once chanced to mention to me the furor that has been caused by word that a child mage who became host to a desire demon was freed, in Ferelden, during the Blight. More, I know Hawke and his companions once similarly freed a young elven mage in Kirkwall, travelling into the very Fade itself to battle with the demons who sought to prey on him. And now we have Anders, who was certainly host to a spirit or demon of some kind, and now appears to have been spontaneously freed as well. And if he is indeed freed of it – I must ask myself, how much of his guilt is his own, and how much accrues to the spirit that controlled him for so long?"

Glynis nodded, slowly, frowning in thought. "You wish to study him."

"Among other things, yes. I believe the spirit has left him, that the changed man I am seeing is perhaps Anders as he once was, before he became an abomination. I do not know if the spirit has truly left him, or is merely biding its time... but I have seen what he is like when the spirit moves him, I know its ways as no other does. Believe me, if I ever have reason to think that he is become an abomination again, I will not hesitate to slay him," he said, voice hardening. "I have seen the devastation he wrought under the influence of this... _spirit_. I do not forget that he killed many men and women well-known to me, among them a woman I loved as dearly as a mother. So I keep him close, I keep him guarded, I watch his actions. And while he lives, I see that Starkhaven gets what good it can from his presence here, by allowing him to heal the sick. It will never erase the great evil he has worked, but it may, in time, gain him some level of redemption. And Elthina always did hate to see waste," he added, lips twisting in bitter humour. "Witness how diligently she worked to redeem my own shopworn soul."

Glynis sat in thought for a while before finally speaking again. "All right. I will trust that you can, as you say, see a difference in him now, and will know if this – demon, spirit, what-have-you – returns to possess him a second time. But I must set some safeguards of my own. I wish him also under the eye of someone _I_ trust, so that I have independent witness to anything he does in this clinic of yours. And I wish to see both of you making regular public appearances at the chantry for prayer. I know you are enough a brother still to oversee your own religious needs, but a public show of faith will satisfy those who fear that you have been... influenced by your secular friendships to move away from the chantry. And if you seek to redeem the mage in some degree, reconciling him with the faith cannot hurt."

Sebastian nodded. "I agree to both points. In truth I should have been attending chantry services regularly all along, to reassure my people that I am still strong in our shared faith. I do make regular use of the small chapel here in the Keep, but making a more public display is a good thought. As to your having an independent eye within the clinic..." he frowned in thought a moment, then smiled charming at the Revered Mother. "I don't suppose you might have a suitable candidate that would also happen to be trained in the arts of the stillroom, would you, your Grace?" he asked hopefully.

Glynis smiled, looking amused. "If it will kill two birds with one stone, I am sure I can find someone able to fill both roles. Or at least someone who is reasonably well-trained in providing aid to the sick, if I cannot find a trained apothecary who is otherwise suitable to my purpose, for I am sure your clinic will have need of several such in time."

Sebastian nodded. "That we likely will," he said. "Word of events in the wider world around us is dark. I doubt not we will see growing numbers of refugees soon, and with them will doubtless come both discord and disease."

Glynis nodded. "I will pray it is not so, but I fear you are right."


	14. Scars

If anything helped to further convince Sebastian that Justice was gone, it was how quietly the mage accepted the addition of Sister Maura to the clinic; the old Anders would have hit the roof over being placed under the eye of the chantry, he was sure. When she proved to be well-versed in brewing potions, and compounding salves and poultices, he seemed more thankful to have skilled help than anything else.

The clinic was so far proving to be at least a minor success, staying open for two to three hours most days and seeing a fairly steady stream of sick or injured people during that time. Sebastian received regular reports about Anders' conduct during his clinic hours, and so far he seemed to be sticking to the mandate of only speaking to people as required to diagnose and cure them.

Sebastian was glad that the mage seemed taken care of for now; his own duties were growing steadily more onerous. His sudden return to Starkhaven and the precipitous flight of his cousin Goren, as well as news of the events in Kirkwall and elsewhere, had won him an initial respite as the citizens of the city, noble and commoners alike, waited to see what sort of ruler he was going to prove to be. Now that he was settled in without showing any obviously tyrannical bent, the nobles, merchants and guildmasters were beginning to test him, to see if he would be as pliant as Goren had proved.

Some of the concerns they approached him with were justified, such as the increased crowding within the city walls due to the recent and continuing influx of refugees, and some were obviously blatant efforts to gain advantage for their particular group of partisans at the expense of others within the city. He was becoming very good at saying 'no', in assorted ways, some of them more diplomatic than others, depending on just how graceful or forceful any particular applicant had been in their entreaties or demands.

He returned to his room in sour temper after one particularly heated session with a group of obstinate nobles, ones who did not understand why he felt it necessary to prepare _now_ for an large influx of refugees that had not yet occurred. They objected to his plans for several reasons, ranging from the proposed siting of the necessary camps 'spoiling their views', to the fear that he would raise taxes in order to pay for it. Stubborn, self-centred fools... could they not see that preparation now would save the city considerable trouble and expense when – _when_ , not if! – such refugees materialized? But no, they would rather ignore events in the wider world and hope that it would not touch them here in Starkhaven. Or, worse, argued that if the flow of refugees continued or increased, he should somehow close the borders to them, deny people in need a safe haven, all in the name of maintaining their own perceived peacefulness. What they really meant was that he should do nothing that might impinge on their privilege.

The usual sheaf of parchment pages rescued from Anders' discards awaited him. More poetry, most of it bad, though one short scrawl about the breeze off the sea bringing a hint of clean air and freedom to the under-city of Dark Town had promise. He kept that sheet, consigning the rest to his own fireplace. And again several pages of sketches. Hawke was featuring less often now, he noticed, though cats and plants were still a popular subject for the man. Some of his sketches of vegetation from his garden might well have served as illustrations for herbals, lovingly detailed as they were, while others gave only a vague suggestion of shape and form. There was another sketch of Sebastian on the second page, looking thoughtful this time, a hint of a smile on his lips, and on the final page a fine little caricature of Aveline, looking resolute. He added the sketches to the growing stack of such in his desk, and then decided that he should take a break before resuming his work for the day. He selected a book from the shelves in his study, a popular travelogue by Brother Genitivi of Denerim that he'd been meaning to read for a while, rang for a servant to bring him his lunch, and retired to his bedroom.

He settled down in the wide seat of the south-facing window, well-padded now with cushions that he'd moved there after he'd begun making such a habit of sitting here. He glanced out, noting that Anders was not out in the garden today, and settled down to enjoy his lunch and book, loosing himself for a while in the good brother's description of his travels through Rivain.

He was pouring himself a final cup of now-lukewarm tea when movement outside caught his eye. Anders had returned from the clinic at some point, and was now working out in the garden, cutting back the plants around the small pond in the middle, revealing it to clear view. He watched for a while, noting that the man was filling in since his arrival in Starkhaven; between sufficient food and regular work outdoors, his gaunt, pale look was gone, replaced with a healthy tan. Still skinny, but his form was gradually broadening with muscle now; he'd need new clothing soon, his shoulders and thighs were clearly beginning to put tension on the seams of his shirt and leggings.

As Sebastian watched, the mage rose to his feet, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead; he was flushed with heat, doubtless from working so hard on such a hot day. The humidity near the pond couldn't be helping any either.

Anders stood a moment, looking toward the gate, then hesitantly lifted his hands, unlacing the neck of his short. He paused again, then grasped the lower hem and pulled it off over his head.

Sebastian bit back a particularly vile curse from his youth. Sweet Andraste's grace...! No wonder the man wore long sleeves even in the heat of summer. Even from here, he could see the knotted scar tissue that covered the man's back and laced the skin of his arms. He'd known a mercenary once, one who'd started out as a soldier somewhere, until he'd been drummed out of service – he'd never heard for what, but given the man's personality he'd assumed it was either for theft from or abuse of his fellow soldiers. The man had made a point of displaying the scars from the whipping he'd been given, whenever opportunity presented. 'Thirty lashes, well-marked' had apparently been his punishment, as he was obscurely proud of repeating.

Remembering that man's scars, and comparing it to Anders' back... the mage had suffered far more than a mere thirty lashes in his life. It was a minor miracle that he wasn't crippled. Miracle or magic, Sebastian amended, realizing the mage might have been able to use his magic to correct some of the damage. But if he'd done that, then why hadn't he healed the marks entirely, Sebastian wondered, puzzled for a moment.

And then Sebastian remembered the man's hatred and fear of templars. Templars, who among other skills had the ability to drain a mage of all magic. A healer _couldn't_ heal, if he had no power to draw upon. And then there were poisons like magebane that could be used to _keep_ them drained for longer periods of time... long enough for deep lash marks to heal scarred and awry, beyond any healer's skill to ameliorate.

He turned away from the window, feeling ill. Dear Maker, no wonder Anders hated templars so much, if _that_ had been done to him. He closed his eyes, praying for a moment, feeling unsettled by the thought that Anders had reason for his hatred. Not justification for what he had done, in Kirkwall, no, never that... but that there was seemingly much more to his hatred of templars and the chantry than just a reasoned dislike of life in the circle was a disturbing revelation.

He forced himself to turn back and study the man's back, to dispassionately look at the massed lines of gnarled tissue that ran down from Anders' shoulders to disappear belong the waist of his leggings. To accept that the chantry was perhaps not entirely blameless in the events that had led to the apostate's actions in Kirkwall. That they may well have earned this man's hatred for them with every well-marked lash across his back. Still not justification for what actions he had taken there, but _reason_ for why he had so easily fallen prey to the spirit's blandishments... oh, yes, certainly that.

Finally he turned away again. The man was clearly uncomfortable with others seeing his scarring; he would not infringe on his privacy any further. He left his book and tray where they were and returned to his study, striving to loose himself in his own work, and finding his minds eye casting up before him again and again the image of Anders' scarred back.

For the first time since he'd walked back in through the front doors of the Kirkwall chantry, he found himself doubting one of the chantry teachings, questioning whether he accepted a chantry edict because it was truly _right_ , or merely because it was what he had been _told_ was right.


	15. Service

"How do I look?" Anders asked hesitantly, a slight smile twisting his lips, his hands smoothing down the front of his new coat.

Word that he'd have to begin attending weekly services with Sebastian in the Starkhaven chantry had unsettled the man; Sebastian had decided to distract him with a gift of new clothing, a fine though sombre outfit suitable for him to wear on their visits to the chantry. Clothing suited to a well-off merchant, of good well-woven cloth in plain dark colours. The man seemed nervous as a new bride, and Sebastian believed he could understand some of the reasons why, given what little he'd now guessed of the man's history. Not to mention that the last time the man had set foot in a chantry had been with the intent of destroying it, he reminded himself.

"You look fine," he said, and smiled encouragingly at the man. "Just stay close by me. I will not ask that you pray or otherwise take part in worship if it is truly against your beliefs; the Maker wants no dishonest prayers. I will ask, however, that you at least go through the motions of appearing to do so. Do as I do, and all will be well."

Anders nodded nervously. As Sebastian led the way out of the cottage and across the partially-tamed garden, he found himself thinking that Anders did, in fact, look quite fine in his new outfit. The dark brown coat and leggings brought out the gold of his hair and the warmth of his eyes, the pale cream shirt visible beneath the coat forming a pleasing contrast with his tanned skin. If you didn't know him, it would be hard to believe this quiet, well-dressed and well-groomed man was the same gaunt, wild-eyed, unshaven fanatic who'd blown up the Kirkwall chantry.

Their guards fell in behind them as they left the garden, more than their usual number. They crossed the grounds to the barbican gate. Anders looked unsettled as they left the castle and walked down the wide street toward the nearby chantry. Sebastian glanced at him as they approached the doors. The man looked pale, he noticed. "Steady, Anders," he said softly, making a sudden guess as to one reason for the man's fear. "I promise you, you'll be walking back out that door with me in an hour's time."

It seemed he'd guessed right; Anders drew a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and relaxed slightly. "I'll hold you to that word," he said with a crooked smile. Still pale, back stiff with apprehension, he followed Sebastian up the stairs to the main doors.

* * *

Anders forced himself to keep his hands lax and still, his face calm, though his mouth was dry as an old bone and his stomach roiling so badly he was worried he was going to vomit, right here in full view of the crowded chantry. The last time he'd been in a chantry... had been Kirkwall, at night, sneaking in to plant the device that Justice later used to destroy the building, killing everyone in it and injuring many people elsewhere as the ruined pieces of the building rained down out of the sky. No, not just Justice - _he_ and Justice, working in concert. He'd believed in their cause then, _believed_ that what they were doing would better the lot of mages everywhere.

Now... he wasn't so sure, anymore. With the loss of the spirit, a great deal of certainty seemed to have gone out of his life, leaving him feeling empty and lost. Arguments and logic that had once seemed like self-evident truths to him now seemed... shaky. How much of his fervour for mage freedoms, his belief in the injustice of chantry rule over the last half-decade and more had been his, and how much the influence of Justice? It was a deeply unsettling thought.

He stuck close to Sebastian as the man moved slowly through the chantry, stopping at intervals to exchange a quite word with one person or another, before they finally drew to a stop neat the front of the chantry. He didn't much like the man, but at least he trusted him to keep his word; he'd always been truthful. Sometimes aggravatingly so, when expressing his dislike of Anders and his certainty that Anders' beliefs were both misplaced and dangerous.

Unlike the Kirkwall chantry, which had still followed the old style of only having seating for the brothers and sisters in faith and a few of the highest nobles, everyone else being required to stand during services, the Starkhaven chantry had the modern pews, with box stalls at the front and raised to either side for the gentry. A particularly large and well-furnished stall directly below the lectern was reserved for the use of the royal family; it had sufficient room in it for a large family and numerous guards and servants, though at the moment it was only fitted out with one moderately ornate upholstered chair and several plain wooden ones, backed by a single long pew. Sebastian moved to the ornate chair, covered in white cloth with the Starkhaven stag worked in gold on the back, and gestured for Anders to take one of the plain ones nearby. Their guards shuffled into place along the pew behind them.

Anders glanced sideways at Sebastian. The Prince had chosen to wear his armour again today; in his white and gold enamel and silver mail, on the white and gold chair, he looked every inch a prince. Hard to believe this was the same man Anders had seen Hawke drag through caves filled with giant spiders, down Dark Town tunnels filled with filth and madmen, and up mountain paths teeming with abominations. Hard to reconcile thinking of him as royalty with memories of regularly seeing him covered in undead guts. And yet, seeing him here, so calm and assured before everyone – before _his people_ , Anders realized – it was suddenly easy to believe that he was, indeed, royalty.

He rested his hands on his knees, fighting the urge to run his damp palms along the fabric. New clothes – _more_ new clothes. It felt unreal to have such nice clothing, tailored expressly for him this time. He'd never had a tailored outfit in his entire life. Not unless you counted once when he was a child and his mother had made a new outfit for him, rather than him having to wear hand-me-downs. Even in the Circle in Ferelden, his robes had been in the nature of a one-size-fits-most affair from common stores, not anything expressly made _for_ him.

There was a stir at the back of the church, as the Revered Mother Glynis and her sister priests entered in procession, moving toward the raised area at the front of the church reserved for the brothers and sisters in faith. Sebastian promptly rose to his feet, everyone else hurrying to do the same. She turned her head slightly as she passed their stall, dipping her head to Sebastian, who dipped his to her in turn, religious and secular leaders of Starkhaven cordially acknowledging each other's presence. Her eyes flicked briefly to Anders before she turned away again, but apart from that she did not appear to take any notice of him at all.

Sebastian remained on his feet as Glynis walked around to the side and up a staircase to the lectern, the remainder of the chantry people moving to stand by their seats. Only once everyone was motionless again did Sebastian finally sit, looking attentively toward the Revered Mother. Everyone else sat down then as well, and she began her sermon.

Anders found himself unable to concentrate on her words, and looked instead at the statue of Andraste behind her. Neither as large nor as fine as the one in Kirkwall had been, this one was of plain white marble, not sheathed in gold. Her expression seemed marginally less stern, somehow, and Anders found himself studying her face, remembering his childhood in the Anderfels and later in Ferelden, attending chantry services with his parents and siblings. His mother had believed quite earnestly in Andraste and the Maker, had prayed regularly to Andraste – he didn't know for what.

He wondered, briefly, what had become of his family after he'd been taken away from them. Remembered his final glimpse of them, looking back over his shoulder as he was dragged away between two templars. His father's bitter face, his mother lying pooled in the dirt at his feet, her brow stained with blood where one of the templars had hit her when she'd protested their taking him away. His father had raised no protest; had seemed glad to see his problem child removed from his hands.

He sometimes feared that the blow had killed his mother. She'd been lying so still... he would never know, had no way of even attempting to locate his family, assuming any of them yet lived. He'd refused to give his name when he'd reached the tower, and the templars hadn't bothered learning it. They knew only from the strong accent of his parents that his family came from the Anderfels, and so 'Anders' he had become. He'd been Anders so long now he barely remembered his birth name, certainly didn't recall at all the rarely-used family surname. It had started with a B or a P or a similar sound, he thought, but after so many years of purposeful forgetfulness even that memory was uncertain.

He rose and sat whenever Sebastian did, knelt on the cold hard floor for a while as well, head bent as if in prayer. Finally the service ended, the Revered Mother retreated to a seat of her own. There was singing, for a while, a haunting antiphonal exchange between male and female choirs. A final brief chanting of a verse from the Canticle of Threnodies, read by a young male initiate.

" _There was no word  
For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky.  
All that existed was silence.  
Then the Voice of the Maker rang out,  
The first Word,  
And His Word became all that might be:  
Dream and idea, hope and fear,  
Endless possibilities."_

Noise, then, as everyone rose to their feet for a final time, the religious of the chantry filing out again, first to leave as they'd been last to enter, followed by a general dispersal of the other people present. Sebastian stood quietly, looking thoughtfully up at the statue of Andraste, only moving to leave the stall once the chantry was near-empty.

He didn't go toward the doors, but instead moved to the front of the church, selecting an unlit candle of red-dyed wax from a table to one side, and carrying it to the front, lighting the candle from one of the ones already burning there, putting it down and bowing his head in prayer over it.

Something Anders could recall seeing others do, his mother do, many times. Offering a candle in prayer, asking for luck, or love, for better health, or to remember the dead.

He looked down at the table, having lingered near it when Sebastian moved away. For a moment he was tempted to reach out and pick up a candle as well, light it as well, pray as well... the moment passed. He waited quietly, until Sebastian was done, then followed him back out of the chantry and up the hill, returning to his prison.


	16. Old Ways

The heat of summer gave way to the cool weather of autumn with its usual surprising speed. News from the wider world was still worrisome, but so far the arrival of refugees in Starkhaven had remained a slow trickle, not becoming the flood Sebastian feared. Still, he'd gone ahead with his plans to prepare sites in case of need. He'd also authorized the first extension of the city in two generations, something that Starkhaven badly needed – they were bulging at the seams as it was.

He'd consulted Anders about plans for the new quarter, listening attentively to the mage's ideas about proper sanitation, and ended up modifying his plans as a result, siting the proposed extension on a sloped area that could be properly drained by a system of underground sewers, something that only limited areas of the city currently possessed – mainly the more affluent areas, the hiring of dwarves to dig the tunnels back in his grandfather's day having been an expensive proposition. He'd been hesitant about the cost at first, but as Anders had pointed out, it could be done comparatively cheaply if the tunnels were dug before streets were laid and buildings raised, especially with the city bulging with unemployed refugees who could provide cheap labour for the project, though he'd still need to pay for dwarven engineers to plan and oversee the work.

Sebastian frowned. "That's another potential problem," he said. "We have too many people with no work. They are at least not starving, since I have seen to it that food is being distributed to the needy, and are not ill, thanks to the clinic, but there will be unrest among them – and among the existing citizens of Starkhaven – if they remain idle. I have already heard mutterings from some of my nobles and merchants about the increased taxes it is taking to maintain the refugees. That they give nothing back to the city while consuming our resources."

Anders looked curiously at Sebastian. "Have you looked into _why_ they aren't working?" he asked.

Sebastian looked at him questioningly. "I would assume that it is because there are only so many job to go around, in a city of this size."

Anders shook his head. "Perhaps in part, but... look, there was a man I treated yesterday. I recognized him from Kirkwall. He was a talented jeweller there, with a large shop, many apprentices and assistants. When he fled the city he lost it all – what he could not carry had to be left behind, and then what little he'd managed to save was stolen from him on the way here by the bandits who are preying on the refugees; he arrived in Starkhaven with nothing but the clothes on his back and the injuries they'd left him in exchange for his gold and gems. Yet his greatest treasure is not the things he lost – it is the knowledge in his head and the skill of his hands. _Those_ he has kept, but with no wealth he has no way to make use of them here; he lacks the resources to begin again, to start over."

Sebastian frowned. "He could apply to the guild here for a place..."

Anders shrugged. "Perhaps. But why would the jeweller's guild here care about the plight of a man from Kirkwall, who has never paid into their own coffers? One who they likely perceive as potential competition for a limited market? What master would want to hire on as an assistant someone who is a master in their own right, that they might fear is as good or better than they themselves are? For that matter, why should _he_ , who is a master craftsman, be reduced to begging to be allowed to be a mere assistant in someone else's shop?" Anders asked, then shook his head. "I saw this many times among the refugees in Dark Town – men and women who had been skilled, well-off crafters back in Ferelden, reduced to penury here, with no opportunity to improve their circumstances."

Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, then closed it and looked thoughtfully at Anders. "You have a suggestion, I am sure."

"Yes. Convince your guilds to seek out and help the skilled among your refugees, to get them started over _here_ , in Starkhaven. They'll provide work for others, not just their own assistants and apprentices in their shop, but for everyone they buy supplies or food or lodgings from. Your guilds fear competition in a limited market – show them that by increasing local production, they actually make their market _bigger_."

Sebastian frowned. "That is a simplistic view of things."

"Probably, yes. But think of this too – with unrest elsewhere, production of things – not just luxuries like jewellery, but of _all_ made goods – is going to be going down sharply. Attract the skilled craftsmen _here_ , give them reason to settle here, and in time Starkhaven could be supplying the needs of people well beyond its borders. And that is a much, _much_ bigger market."

Sebastian slowly nodded. "I will give what you said some thought," he agreed, slowly. "The idea has merit. It will have to wait until after the harvest break, anyway – many of those I would need to consult or convince to implement such a plan will be away in the country over the coming week."

"Harvest break?" Anders asked curiously.

Sebastian smiled. "A local custom. We have a break in spring, to help with planting, and a second in the fall, to help bring in the harvest. The nobles will be visiting their estates to oversee the work there and take part in the festivals, those commoners who can will also be leaving to take temporary work in the fields. It is as much festival as work, usually."

Sebastian tilted his head, looking thoughtfully at Anders. "I had not thought on what to do with you during harvest break; I doubt there will be much work for you in the clinic, with the city half-emptied for it. I must visit my own lands for it... I suppose I'd best bring you along with me, rather than leave you behind unsupervised."

Anders looked mildly surprised. "When does this harvest break take place?" he asked.

"Soon. I'll likely plan to leave in three, perhaps four days time; if the weather holds warm and dry the grain should be ready for harvesting then."

* * *

Anders found it strange to be travelling again, especially since for the first time in his life it was not on foot; instead he found himself bundled into a carriage, one of several in Sebastian's party, most filled with staff and servants from the castle, though Anders shared his with only his own guardsmen.

Sebastian started out the day on horseback, though he joined Anders in the carriage by mid-day, wincing as he eased himself down on the cushioned bench. "I had forgotten how painful riding a horse can be when you are out of practise with it," he said. "I thought it best to stop before I raised blisters."

Anders snorted. "Good plan," he agreed. "If you do something so foolish, don't look to _me_ to heal them for you."

That won a laugh from Sebastian. He settled back in his seat, wincing again as his sore muscles protested, and smiled out the window at the passing landscape. "I love this season; it was always one of my favourite as a boy. Travelling out to our country place, helping with the harvest... there will be hard work, and feasting and dancing at the end of it all. And singing. I always loved the singing."

One of the guards spoke up shyly. "Will you be taking the first harvester's role this year, m'Lord?"

Sebastian smiled warmly at the man. "I would love to. I only took it once, in my youth, usually my older brothers did it."

"First harvester?" Anders asked curiously.

Sebastian looked back at him. "Starkhaven has been settled by men for a very long time; since before the worship of the Maker became widespread, when the people living here were known as the Ciriane and the Tevinter Imperium was in its ascendency. Some of the old ways still linger; our spring and harvest breaks recall older, darker festivals from long ago. Many of the rites that were once followed had to do with sacrifice to ameliorate the gods, and ensure the fertility of the land; dark, bloody rituals. All that remains of the old ways now is a token sacrifice of blood, from the first planter in the spring – a girl newly come into her blood-times – and the first harvester in the fall – any unwed man. It is done before dawn on the first morning of harvest – tomorrow, if the weather holds. Each village and estate will have their own man to do it."

Anders raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised you'd be willing to take place in what sounds suspiciously like a pagan rite," he said, dryly.

Sebastian laughed. "The chantry in Orlais would undoubtedly frown on our festivities; they have long since stamped out any such remembrances there. But here in Starkhaven we accept that no real harm is done by a token nod to the old ways. The old gods are long gone, their time is past; the people will never return to the old ways of worship."

They arrived at Sebastian's country estate in mid-afternoon. Anders was surprised to see that the house they'd be staying in there was nowhere near as fine a property as he'd expected, being little more than a significantly larger and more sprawling version of the cottage he lived in, with only a handful of real bedrooms, most of the servants and staff dividing up among dormitory spaces in the attics, the guards sleeping in the stable loft. Sebastian took the main bedroom for himself, and had Anders installed in a smaller one nearby.

He seemed much more relaxed and casual here than Anders had seen him since Kirkwall, talking and laughing with the guards and servants, even helping with unloading the supplies they'd brought to feed themselves for their several days here. It seemed this was one of the sorts of festivals where rank ceased to have meaning.

They had almost finished the unpacking when a crowd of people came up from the nearby village to greet their Prince. Among them was a man so old and crippled they'd had to carry him; Sebastian immediately called for a chair, and once the man had been placed on it, went down on one knee before him, taking his hand in his own and smiling happily at him. "Old father," he said, loudly. "I am pleased to see you still among the living."

The old man nodded, peering shortsightedly at Sebastian. "I'd heard you were back, boy. Will you be the harvester for us tomorrow, then?"

Sebastian nodded. "I would be proud to," he agreed.

"Good, good. My Muirne will be taking the woman's role for it," he said, gesturing at a nearby young woman, plump with child.

"Don't tell me you've married again!" Sebastian exclaimed. "You're had, what, five wives already? Will you outlive this one too?"

The old man laughed. "No wife of mine, boy. Great-granddaughter," he said proudly, then grinned slyly. "Not that I haven't considered taking another wife, but I'm getting on in years, you know."

Sebastian laughed at that, and had a cask of ale broached and served to everyone, the old man drinking as heartily as the rest before being lifted up and carried back to the village. Sebastian watched them go, a broad smile on his face, then shook his head. "He's over ninety years old, that man," he told Anders as they walked back indoors. "Over half the village is descended from him, one way or another."

That was an impressive age; few made much more than three-score years in a lifetime, to be close to five-score was an accomplishment.

Dinner was a simple affair of stew and biscuits with more ale, after which everyone retired early – they'd need to be up well before dawn the next day, to head out to the fields for the first day's harvest.


	17. Harvest

Anders woke to a knock on his door in darkness. His heart thudded almost painfully hard for a moment, even as he was reminding himself that he was in a bedroom, not a cell, and had expected to be woken early. "Yes?" he called.

The door opened, and a servant came in carrying a tray and a lighted candle. She dipped a curtsey to Anders, set the tray down on the end table, lit some candles in the room from her own, then left again. Once the door had close behind her, Anders sat up and investigated the tray. Bread, still warm from the oven, spread thickly with butter, and an apple, sliced in edges and cored, and a large steaming mug of tea. He ate quickly, then rose and dressed and went out to the hallway. Sebastian emerged from his own room further down the hall, and nodded in greeting.

Everyone gathered in the front room of the oversized cottage. A few of the servants lit lanterns, before they trooped out together, across the yard and down the road to the village, everyone remaining quiet. The villagers were gathered in the town square, equally hushed, gathered around a couple of waggons. The old man from the day before was sitting beside the driver of the front waggon, and nodded as the Prince's group arrived. The waggon lurched into movement, the other following behind, and everyone fell into step in back of them as they led the way out of the village and to the fields.

Finally the waggon turned off the road, pulling over onto the verge beside a large field of grain; it was too dark for Anders to see if it was wheat or oats or some other planting, just the slight waving motion of it as a breeze stirred it. Sebastian paused by his side for a moment, and gestured off to one side. "Just stand over there and watch, the work is dangerous if you don't know how to go about it," he said softly, then moved off again without waiting to see if Anders obeyed him.

The men moved forward, converging on the first waggon to retrieve long objects from its bed – scythes, Anders realized, recognizing the distinctly curved, wickedly bladed shapes. Dangerous work, indeed – he'd seen the kind of damage one of those could do to a man, if they were in the wrong place at the wrong time when they were being swung. The men spread out in a large circle, a few drawing whetstones from their belts to touch up the edge of their implements. A couple of villagers carried in the old man, setting him down in a chair at the centre. A pair of children brought him a bowl and a wineskin. He balanced them on his lap, then looked up at the slowly greying sky. He sat still, silent, for several long minutes.

Anders, glancing around, realized he'd lost sight of Sebastian at some point while all the men had been getting scythes; he was nowhere in sight now. The old man abruptly raised one hand high in the air, and a familiar voice began singing out of the darkness behind them. Anders turned, and saw Sebastian walking toward the waiting circle of people, carrying a scythe, and dressed in nothing now but a loincloth of some roughly woven, undyed fabric.

He'd known Sebastian was a good-looking man, but as the light of the lanterns and torches lit the archer's well-muscled, near-naked form as he approached out of darkness, he realized just how beautiful the man was. Wide shoulders and well-muscled arms from all his work with a bow, narrow waist and hips leading down to well-muscled thighs and calves. He had a dusting of reddish hair on his arms and legs, visible mainly as a faint glinting in the flickering light of torches and candles. Thicker curls covered the centre of his chest, a thin trail of darker red-brown hairs vanishing down under the loincloth from his navel. The circle parted to let him enter, closed behind him as he moved to the centre, to stand beside the old father, still singing.

As the song ended, Sebastian's voice fading, dropping, the lights were extinguished, torches ground into the dirt, lanterns blown out. Everything was pre-dawn grey now, no colour left in the world. The grain field glittered, silvery with frost. A hush fell as everyone looked out over the fields, waiting.

A female voice suddenly rose in song from somewhere out in the middle of the fields, pure and beautiful. As the song swelled, the eastern sky began to blush with the colours of dawn, pinks and purples and hints of orange, the sky rapidly changing from grey to blue, colour returning to the world. Faint wisps of mist rose from the field as the frost burned off in the early morning light.

Anders spotted the singer then, the pregnant woman Muirne from the day before. She walked toward them, dressed in a fine white dress, crowned with a circlet woven of heavy heads of grain, carrying a bouquet of greenery and a few late flowers, set off with a couple small bare branches heavy with bright-red berries. She entered the circle as well, removed her crown, placing it on Sebastian's head as he gravely bowed to her, then retreated from the circle, her song ending now too.

Sebastian straightened up. "The summer has passed," he called out in a loud voice. "Now is the time to harvest summer's plenty, for the lean times ahead."

He steadied his scythe upright with his right hand, then reached out and closed his left carefully around the wickedly sharp blade. His jaw set for a moment in concentration, then a thin line of red blood ran down to drip off the tip, falling into the bowl the old man held ready. "Let this be the only blood the blades claim this year."

An answering murmur from the gathering. Sebastian released the blade and held out his hand to the side. An old woman shuffled forward from the circle, cleaned and poulticed the cut across the heel of his hand, then bandaged it. Sebastian nodded to her and she retreated.

The old father, in the meantime, had unstoppered the wineskin, and poured its contents into the bowl. Sebastian stood at his ease now, leaning on the handle of his scythe and smiling, his injured hand curled loosely on his hip. He nodded and said a few words to each man as they moved over, dipping their fingers into the mix of blood and wine in the bowl before touching the blades of their own scythes, and then retreating to take positions along the near edge of the field. Once every scythe had been daubed, Sebastian accepted the bowl from the old man, and carefully walked to the edge of the field, managing both scythe in one hand and bowl in the other without trouble. He lifted the bowl and drank a mouthful from it, letting some drip down from the corners of his mouth to splash on his chest, then carefully poured the rest onto the ground at his feet. "As the fields feed us, we feed the fields," he called out, again answered by a murmuring from all sides.

He looked like some pagan god, Anders found himself thinking, bright and beautiful and bloody. Then the man closest to Sebastian leaned over and said something, and Sebastian whooped with laughter for a moment, and he was just a man again, a handsome man with laughing blue eyes and bright red hair.

The last of the frost having burned away by then, the men finally set to work, moving off at staggered intervals so they crossed the field in a slanted line, each safely far apart from the man ahead and behind him to right and left, Sebastian at the farthest forward, furthest right end of the line. While the men cut the first field, most of the women and children followed behind them, gathering the grain into sheaves and setting them together in stooks. The remaining watchers converged on the second waggon, drawing out boards and bundles, quickly setting up trestle tables and covering them dishes of food. Having nothing better to do, and not liking to stand idle, Anders joined in, helping to assembles tables. By the time they had everything set up and set out, the first of the men had reached the far end of the field and were walking back to have their breakfast before buckling down to the real work of the day.

Sebastian had clearly worked hard, his skin gleaming with sweat from the hard work of swinging the large scythe, hair sticking damply to his forehead. He disappeared behind a bush, followed by one of the servants with a bundle of clothing, and returned a couple of minutes later, lacing his shirt closed. Anders drifted over to him.

"How's your hand?" he asked, concerned.

"Oh, it's fine," Sebastian said. "I'll let you look at it once we go back to the house; it went a little deeper then I'd meant to, the blade was hungry this year. Too many years since it last tasted royal blood, I suppose," he added with a grin. "Come on, let's breakfast, there should be enough to satisfy even that bottomless pit of a belly you have."

Anders snorted, but followed Sebastian over to the tables. The man was in his element, he could see, smiling and joking with everyone, flirting with the ladies serving the food, gravely courteous with both the elderly and the very young. Seeing him like this, not his usual taciturn, upright self, he found it much easier to believe that the man had been a notorious rake in his youth; he could see the easy charm in Sebastian's smile as he teased some new young mother and made much of the babe in her arms, exclaiming about how the last time he'd seen the girl she'd still worn her hair in pigtails, and now here she was a wedded mother.

He could see, too, how fondly the villagers regarded their prince, not at all hesitant at bringing up reminders of his wayward youth. Even the old father scoldingly reminded him to "keep his hands off the wenches, now, or he'd have to find his cane and beat some manners into him", which drew a short laugh from Sebastian and a reminder that he was a chantry brother now, and had sworn off such pleasures.

The old father shook his head. "A waste, my boy, purely a waste. Anyway, you'll need to father children of you own. Find a girl that makes your heart smile and your cock twitch, and marry her!"

Sebastian laughed merrily. "I'll keep it in mind, old father," he promised.

They stayed a while longer, Sebastian helping out further with the cutting and the gathering, then returned early to the cottage, leaving most of their entourage behind, just taking their guards and a few of the servants back with them.


	18. Loneliness

Sebastian smiled as he looked over the latest pile of parchments. Their trip to the country had certainly changed the subject matter of Anders' sketches significantly. He'd drawn very little in the way of plants this time, but quite a lot of people. A sketch of the old father sitting and smiling, women and children stacking the grain in stooks, and a single one of Hawke, looking down and away at something. There was a lovely little bust of Muirne, wearing her crown of corn, in one corner of the page.

His eyebrows rose when he saw the detailed sketch that filled most of the second page – himself, wearing nothing but a loincloth, scythe grasped in one hand like a spear, its butt resting on the ground by his foot. He bit his lip. It really was a quite good likeness, but somewhat disturbing somehow. Perhaps just that the apostate could draw something so detailed from memory alone. He was sure he couldn't picture Anders in enough detail to attempt a similar portrait, if he'd had the skill to even make the attempt. He could picture the man's face and hair readily enough, his usual standing stance, his hands with their long, strong fingers, but the rest of his body... he remembered the mage's scarred back, and hastily dispelled the forming image from his mind.

The smaller sketches around the edge of the page were far less troubling; faces, of the guards and servants that had accompanied them, and several sketches of cats. The third page was almost entirely cats, most commonly a tabby-marked one, along with another small sketch of Hawke, more a smudged suggestion of form than a detailed portrait. A recognizable one of Varric, standing with Bianca under one crooked arm. Dugall, brow furrowed in concentration as he tied a bandage around someone's limb – arm or leg was uncertain, not enough of the flesh having been limned in to make it clear. Another sketch of Sebastian, a study of his facial features – nose, eyes and lips, with just a faint suggestion of where hairline, chin and cheek lay. By the little creases between his eyebrows and the intent look of his eyes, the set of his mouth, he was either angry or thinking. Perhaps both.

He turned back to the larger sketch of himself, and studied it for a while longer before putting the pages away in his desk, thinking wistfully of how much he'd enjoyed the three days in the country, helping with the harvest. Even Anders had pitched in, the women cheerfully teaching him how to gather and stack the grain, and when there had been a minor accident with a scythe late the second day – there was rarely a year without some incident either minor or major – he'd done good work in healing the man's foot, much to the awed though somewhat guarded delight of the villagers.

The dinner and dance at the end of the third day, once the harvest had been finished, had been especially enjoyable. In his younger wastrel years Sebastian wouldn't have hesitated to take advantage of the subtle – and sometimes not so subtle – invitations to go off into the dark beyond the torches and bonfires, to celebrate the harvest end and encourage the fertility of the fields in a more personal fashion. But now... well, even if he hadn't still felt bound by his vows, there was the little matter that he didn't feel comfortable with the idea of potentially fathering a bastard on one of the village girls. If he _was_ going to father an child, it needed to be a legitimate one. And so he'd stayed in the lighted area instead, drinking and taking part in the singing and dancing.

Anders had joined in the singing at one point, when they'd done a piece he apparently remembered from his own youth. He'd had a fine, strong voice. Some of the women had tried to convince him to join the dancing after that, but he'd begged off, claiming to have two left feet when it came to dancing.

Sebastian smiled, then sighed and returned to work. He'd decided to follow up on Anders' suggestion about helping the skilled workers among the refugees to re-establish themselves here in Starkhaven; he'd much to think about and plan before arranging a meeting with the guildmasters to discuss it. He thought he could bring the merchants on-board with the idea easily enough, following up on Anders' suggestion that there was going to be increased demand elsewhere for manufactured goods. Starkhaven's location on the river was well-placed to ship both upstream to Nevarra and Orlais, even to Tevinter via the old Imperial Highway through Nevarra, and downstream to more of the Free Marches, as well as Antiva and Rivain. They had ample forests and mines to the south of them to supply wood and ore, clay beds along the river itself for producing ceramics, as well as already thriving industries in the production of assorted wool and leather products, as well as other agricultural end-products such as cheese, grain, wine, and so forth.

* * *

Anders rubbed his eyes tiredly as he walked through the gate into the garden. He'd enjoyed the short trip out of the city, but was finding that it made his return to the city even more painful. While they'd been in the country he'd been free to associate with large numbers of people, and the relaxed atmosphere had meant that his guards, usually so strict about allowing him to speak with anyone, had actually allowed conversation, even participated in it at times. He'd actually begun to enjoy himself, joking a little with the women as they gathered in the cut grain, had even been shyly flirted with by some of them at the dance on their final day there, though he'd gently turned aside such advances.

He'd mainly sat on the sidelines, drinking some of the good ale and watching the villagers dancing. Watching Sebastian, too, the man smiling and laughing, getting up to dance again and again with everyone from shy little girls with their hair still in pigtails to elderly village matriarchs. There'd even been an energetic pattern dance done by the men only that the prince had participated in, with much good-natured laughter on both sides when he forgot some steps in the middle and ended up being nearly knocked off his feet when he crashed into someone as a result.

And then they'd returned to the city, everyone's happy smiles returning gradually to their normal sober faces as they neared the city. And he'd gone back to not being allowed to talk to anyone – _really_ talk to them, that is – except for the rare time Sebastian summoned him to talk for a while, such occasions being few and far between; only once so far since their return, in fact.

He was, he realized, feeling rather dreadfully lonely. As much as he now sometimes felt that he should fear any future attempt by Justice to return, part of him wished ardently that the spirit was still there, still part of him, making sure he was never all alone in the darkness again.

After making himself a mug of tea he carried it upstairs to his study in the attic space, sitting at his desk and doodling for a while. He found himself unable to focus on it for once... usually his mind just thought about things and people and they'd flow out from the nib of his pen, and today he kept starting faces and then stopping them again. He tried changing his medium, to a stick of charcoal he'd made himself, and other than making a great mess of his hands with the dusty black bit of wood accomplished very little with it.

Finally he shoved his papers aside, twisting several of the worst into a screw and tossing them into the cold grate of the fireplace before returning downstairs. He washed his hands, ate the cooling dinner that had been delivered while he was upstairs, then decided to retire to bed early.

He tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. He missed Kirkwall. He missed Hawke, and all of Hawke's companions. What he'd give to have Hawke show up on his doorstep right this minute, demanding he go along somewhere – up to the mansion for a good meal, to the Hanged Man for Wicked Grace, out to the Wounded Coast to deal with more slavers or Tal'Voshoth, even down into the Deep Roads yet again...

_Maker_ , what he'd give to have Hawke beside him in the bed right now. Better yet, to be back in Kirkwall, the two of them snug and warm together in Hawke's bed, tired from a long day of adventuring, Hawke's arms around him, the two of them moving together, hands warm and firm on his skin, carding through his hair, the salty taste and warm musky smell of Hawke in his mouth and nose...

Tears rose behind his closed eyelids. He blinked several times, letting them rise and flow away. It was a long time before he finally drifted off to sleep.


	19. Helpless

Anders woke suddenly, and froze, not sure what had made him wake, but somehow certain it was nothing good. He lay still, holding his breath and listening, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

Faint footsteps, outside in the garden where no-one should be; more than one person. The faint ring of metal on metal; armour, he thought. A scraping sound as well, possibly a weapon being drawn or shield shifting on someone's arm. Sounds he'd learned to fear, over the years, sounds that all too-often had presaged the thunderous entry of templars into his life, the loss of whatever temporary freedom he had found. He chewed on his lip, fighting back a whimper of fear. He didn't think it could be anyone that Sebastian knew about; if Sebastian wished him taken for some reason, by the chantry or back to the cold dark cells under the castle, it wouldn't take men in the night to accomplish, just his guards escorting him somewhere other than the clinic some day.

He moved slowly, sliding along under the sheets, watching the window in the far wall as he did so, the one that looked out over the garden. The moon was out, bright enough to be lighting the glass and the sill. Bright enough that he noticed when a man-shaped shadow occluded it, someone standing before the window, looking in.

He swallowed thickly, and eased off the side of the bed, down onto the floor, thinking frantically, wondering if there was anywhere to hide in the cottage where they might not find him. Short of climbing up one of the chimneys he couldn't imagine any place to hide that would escape even the most cursory search. Nor any way to escape; the door and all the windows were on the same south-facing wall of the cottage, it would take only a one or two men to watch them all, while any others entered and searched for him. He was still debating what to do when he felt the strange soundless pressure-wave and sudden emptiness that meant a templar had drained all magic from the vicinity. He almost bit through his lip, keeping himself from crying out in terror and shock. Templars. Whomever that was outside, they had templars among their number.

He heard blows raining down on the front door, knew it would not hold for more then a minute or two at most, and dove for the only shelter he could see, the closet in the corner. The door of it was at least good solid oak, thick planks of it, but there was no lock, he realized, and it opened outwards, not in, so he couldn't even hope to wedge it closed somehow, or push against it to buy himself a few seconds of extra time, or...

He whimpered in fear, biting hard on the side of his hand. In the dark. Alone. _Powerless_.


	20. Intruders

He backed away from the door, stumbling, almost falling, catching himself on the back wall of the closet. He turned and leaned heavily against it, burying his face in the clothes hanging on the hooks there. He could still hear the distant pounding as they worked at breaking in the front door, and it was all he could do not to wail in fright. Tears poured from his eyes, streaming down his face. No. Why was this happening? Why now, when he'd begun to think this prison was at least somewhere _safe_...

His knees gave out, and he slid down to the floor, hands scrabbling feebly at clothing. A single sob escaped him, then he retched, spitting out bitter bile, retched again, then vomited. He scrubbed at his face with one hand, making little hiccuping sobs and gasps, the other hand jerking along the surface of the wall.

"Nooooo, please, please, Maker, anything but... no..." he moaned, the sounds barely voiced. He was shaking, could feel himself falling apart, coming adrift, loosing all control. Felt his bladder cut loose, smelled the acrid stink of his own urine. He would go mad from the fear before they even found him, he found himself thinking with brief, unnatural clarity. They would find him here, curled on the floor, stinking and sodden, smeared with tears and his own filth, and they would pull him out, and take him away, and he would never, never _never_ _ **never**_ ever...

His flailing hand banged against something, hard enough to bruise. It moved, with a click. The wall swung away from him, opening into darkness.

Not a wall, a door. A door... doors went somewhere. Somewhere _away_. He whimpered in fear, rose to his hands and knees, crawled forward in a jerky series of movements. Stopped. If he closed the door, they might not know where he'd gone. They might not find him. Working out how to turn around, find the edge of the door, swing it closed again, took what felt like forever. Thinking was _hard_ , his thoughts wanting to skitter off in all directions, his terror growing with every passing second. He could _hear_ thundering footsteps nearby just before the panel snicked quietly shut again, his panicked response sending him scrambling madly away from it, until he banged his head against some surface, hard enough to daze him for a moment, and perversely, hard enough to make it easier to think, the pain distracting him momentarily from his terror.

He reached out with his hand, expecting a wall, and found something cold and curved, rough to the touch. Stone. Curved stone. A column? He slid his hand down it, reached a flat surface, higher than the floor, running out from the column, off to one side. Groped along it, felt his fingertips touch another surface, that went up, and then back... stairs. Stairs narrow at one end and wider at the other. Spiral stairs, around a central column.

He climbed up on hands and knees, by touch, in the darkness, crying and hiccuping in fear as he moved, hoping only that the stairs would take him _away_. That they would not find him, would not catch him.

* * *

Sebastian woke suddenly, and sat up in bed, listening, not sure what had made him wake. He listened, and heard a scrabbling sound from one corner of the bedroom. Cautiously he rose from his bed, wondering what it could be. He padded barefoot over to where his armour and weapons stood on their stand, quietly lifted up the weapon belt his dagger was hanging on, drew it, then approached the corner, frowning.

The scrabbling came again, louder, from behind a tapestry hanging on the wall. He frowned, then retreated to the fireplace, picking up a spill and lighting it from the coals still glowing in the grate, using it in turn to light a branch of candles. As he turned back, there was a metallic grating sound, and the tapestry billowed forward, a figure stumbling out of a dark opening behind it, landing in a sprawl on the floor.

He raised the candles, took a step closer, dagger held ready in hand, then froze as the figure rolled over on its back, recognizing who it was. Anders. An Anders terribly changed from the last time he'd seen the mad, eyes staring wide and blank with terror, face smeared with tears, mucous and vomit, his nightshirt and long breeches filthy and reeking with all of that and worse.

" _Maker!_ What's happened!" Sebastian exclaimed, moving closer.

Anders gave a bleat of terror, cringing away in fright, then blinked, some sense returning to his eyes. "Sebastian?" he asked hoarsely.

"Aye. What's happening, man? How'd you get up here?" he asked.

"Stairs. In the wall," Anders gasped out, and whimpered again, before whining like a beaten dog, a terrible sound to hear from a grown man. He closed his eyes, biting at his lip – already red with blood, he'd bitten half-through it at some point. Finally shuddered, and gasped out more words. "Templars. In the cottage."

Sebastian bit back a curse, and rose to his feet, all but running to the door of his own room, tearing it open and barking orders at the guards in the hallway, sending one running for reinforcements while he had the other come in to guard the stairs Anders had appeared out of. The mage made a hoarse mewling sound at the sight of the guard; scrabbling at the floor, trying to flee. Sebastian hurriedly dropped down to his knees beside him, remembering how badly frightened he'd been of armoured men after that night in the castle dungeon, months before. He took one of the man's hands in his own, ignoring the filth it was smeared with, trying not to wince as Anders held on with bruising force in his terror.

"It's okay, Anders," he said, as soothingly as he could. "You're safe now, man. I've got you."

Guard-Captain Cerin and a group of guards came running into the room. Anders keened in fear, clutching desperately at Sebastian, then blessedly passed out entirely. Sebastian quickly filled his Guard-Captain in on the events of the last few minutes. The man detailed some men to remain here to guard the prince, sent more down the stairs, and led a third group of them hurriedly out to circle around to the garden gate.

Sebastian had one of the guards assist him to move the unconscious mage out of the room, through his sitting room and into the bathing chamber. Anders would do better if he wasn't surrounded by armoured men every time he opened his eyes, Sebastian suspected. And he was rather desperately in need of cleaning up, as well. For a moment he almost summoned a servant to take care of it, and then he remembered the man's scars, and knew that the being handled by a stranger would likely be as terrible for him as the presence of armoured men was.

He started the tub filling – one benefit of being a prince and living in one of the royal suites was having a proper dwarf-installed plumping system, with hot water always on tap from a central boiler – then returned to his guard-occupied bedroom long enough to fetch some clean nightclothes, picking up a decanter of brandy on his way back through the sitting room. He grimaced at the state of Anders' clothing, then set to work on stripping the unconscious mage, carefully not dwelling on what he was doing as he cleaned the worst of the noisome muck off of the man's skin. He noticed in passing that the scarring he'd glimpsed before went right down to the backs of the man's thighs, and that in addition to the marks of whippings he had other scars as well. He balled up the badly soiled clothing and tossed it into the earthcloset for later disposal, then dampened towels and cleaned Anders further, before finally lifting him up with some effort and lowering him into the tub.

Anders woke then, eyes going wide and frightened. He bleated in fright and thrashed for a moment, before recognizing Sebastian.

"Easy, man, you're safe now, I promise you," Sebastian said reassuringly. "You're a bit of a mess. Just sit still and I'll finish cleaning you up, all right?"

Anders nodded jerkily, then abruptly stiffened and flinched away, hands rising to cup over where the scarred flesh on his back lapped over the tops of his shoulders.

"I've already seen the scars," Sebastian said softly. "There's no need to hide them from me."

Anders flushed, then lowered his face into his hands, and sobbed aloud, once, then just sat there in the bath, crying near-silently. Sebastian bit his lip, then soaped up the cloth in his hand and gently began washing the mage. He could feel him trembling, like a spooked horse. He kept washing him, running the washcloth soothingly over his back and what he could reach of the man's arms and legs until the worst of the trembling began to subside, then picked up the brandy decanter and held it while Anders drank a good few swallows out of it.

Anders' tears finally ended, and he sagged back in the tub, looked worn out and shaken. Sebastian silently handed him the washcloth and moved away while the mage shakily dealt with cleaning the more intimate portions of his own body. While he did, Sebastian spent a few minutes cleaning up the room, stripping off his own soiled and water-dampened clothing and tossing it aside as well. He wiped himself down – more to remove the _idea_ of filth than anything that had actually come in contact with himself – and dried off, then helped Anders out of the tub, towelling him dry and helping him into a clean nightshirt before pulling one on himself. He picked up the decanter, taking a good swig of it himself, then coaxed Anders into drinking more of it before finally leading him out of the bathing room.

The mage was looking dazed by now, between the drink and the events of the evening, and leaned heavily on Sebastian as the prince helped him over to a high-backed padded bench near the fire. He saw him seated on one end of it, and knelt to add a couple of logs onto the coals still slowing in the grate, then headed toward the bedroom to fetch some blankets.

"Don't... please, don't leave me alone..." Anders gasped out fearfully.

Sebastian paused and looked back at him. "It's all right, Anders," he said quietly. "I'm just getting us some blankets. I promise I'll be right back."

Anders nodded, eyes still wide and dark with fright. Sebastian ducked into the bedroom, stripping the comforter and a warm woollen blanket off of his bed. "Anything yet?" he quietly asked the guards still standing around near the head of the secret stairs.

"Not much, ser," the senior among them answered. "Sounds of fighting at one point, and Captain Cerin called up afterwards to say they'd retaken the cottage and were moving on to check the rest of the grounds for intruders."

Sebastian nodded and returned to the sitting room. Anders was curled up in a tight ball on the end of the bench, forehead pressed to his knees. He started and looked up as soon as Sebastian entered the room, his frightened expression easing somewhat as he saw who it was. Sebastian tucked the comforter around the mage, then sat down at the other end of the bench, wrapping the blanket around himself.

"Are yeh all right now?" he asked quietly.

Anders shook his head, then lowered his forehead back to his knees. After a while the warmth from the bath and fire, and the copious amount of brandy he'd consumed finally took effect, and he slowly relaxed, dropping off into uneasy sleep. Sebastian sat quietly, staying where the mage would see him if he woke, occasionally taking a sip from the brandy decanter as he waited for word on just had had occurred.

It was some time later before Guard-Captain Cerin finally entered the room, followed by several of his guardsmen and looking harassed. Sebastian quickly rose, gesturing for the man to be quiet, and moved to the far end of the room from where Anders was sleeping. He turned and looked questioningly at the man.

"What did you find?" he asked quietly. "The guards in the bedroom said you'd retaken the cottage?"

Cerin nodded. "Aye. There was a group of ten men; eight mercenaries and a pair of templars, as best as we can make it. They'd killed the guards on the garden gate; we're still looking to see how they made it into the castle grounds in the first place. We took one of the templars and three of the mercenaries alive, the others were killed in the fighting. The mercenaries say the templars hired them; the one remaining templar is refusing to speak, other than to demand to be brought before you. He said to show you this," he added, and held out a round pendant on a leather thong.

Sebastian looked at it, and cursed. "Maker's breath! A Seeker's eye... I'll have to speak with the man," he said, grimly, and looked over to where Anders was still curled up asleep. "He can damned well wait until daylight, however, if he's after breaking in and killing my men rather then presenting himself at the gate as he should have. And I suppose I'd better ask Revered Mother Glynis to attend as well, if the Seekers are involved. Send a guard with word to the chantry, asking her to attend on me here at her convenience tomorrow morning. "

Cerin nodded, and after removing most of the men from Sebastian's bedroom headed out to continue his work in tracing how the group of men had gained entry into the grounds. Sebastian returned to the bench, settling down to take a nap himself if he could manage it; he suspected it was going to be a long night and an even longer day.


	21. Withdrawn

Sebastian lifted his head, blinking his eyes and looking around. His back and neck ached, from sleeping sitting upright. Anders was still all curled up, he saw, breathing slow and even. Undoubtedly he was going to wake feeling even more sore than Sebastian was.

He rose to his feet and stretched, then went to the door and leaned out, unsurprised to find four guards on duty rather than the usual two. And more in his bedroom still, guarding the hidden staircase, he had no doubt. He sent one running off to let Guard-Captain Cerin know he was awake again, and rang for breakfast, then retired to his bedroom – still inhabited by guards – to change into proper clothing.

The servants arrived and laid out the usual overly substantial breakfast. Sebastian went over to the bench.

"Anders, wake up... there's food," he called quietly. There was no response from the man. He reached out to first touch, then shake the mage's shoulder, frowning when there was no reaction from him at all,.

He sat down on the edge of the bench beside the mage, cupped his hands around Anders' head, and lifted it from his knees. It moved easily, his muscles loose and relaxed. His eyes were open, staring sightlessly into the far distance.

"Anders? You're worrying me now," he said. There was no reaction. "Anders?"

Still nothing. The mage was still breathing slowly and evenly, and after a while he blinked, but showed no sign at all that he was aware of anything around him. Sebastian frowned, then gently lowered his head back down before hurrying over to the door, and sending another of the guards running to fetch Dugall and Sister Maura from the clinic.

They arrived quickly. He quickly outlined to them what had happened the night before, then stood by watching as they looked Anders over. Dugall shook his head, looking perplexed. "There's nothing physically wrong with him," he said. "I've seen people go like this a time or two, when they'd been badly traumatized. All I know to do is to keep them warm and fed, and hope they come out of it on their own."

Sister Maura nodded, looking thoughtful. "I heard of a case like this, once – one of the other sisters once mentioned something similar, anyway. A woman, who'd been badly brutalized by a group of men; she was like this for a while, unresponsive. It was 'like a waking sleep', I remember the sister saying, and that it was several days before the woman finally roused from it. She had no memory of what had happened, when she did. The sister said she thought it might have been the mind's way of healing itself, of hiding itself away until the person felt safe enough to come out again. A sedative might help... I don't really know. I can go to the chantry and consult our medical library there, there might be more I could find out," she suggested.

"Do that, please," Sebastian agreed. "We also have a sizable library here; if you can find nothing at the chantry, I can introduce you to our archivist here, and he can help you to locate any relevant texts we might have."

She nodded, and hurried off.

"Anything you can think of to try, Dugall?" Sebastian asked.

Dugall shook his head. "No, ser, other than keeping him comfortable until he recovers. If he recovers."

Sebastian nodded. "Well, let's at least see what we can do about the comfort part; I think we'd better keep him here for now, it's easier to guard him, though I suppose we should at least move him somewhere more comfortable than this bench, and try to get some food and drink into him."

He rang for a servant again, and gave instructions for a cot to be found and set up in his room, Dugall and he straightening the unresponsive mage out on his back on the bench in the meantime.

Guard-Captain Cerin arrived just then, looking as if he'd had little sleep the night before. Sebastian retreated to the breakfast table, gesturing for the captain to join him there. Cerin poured himself a cup of tea, but declined the food. Sebastian quickly filled his own plate, calling Dugall over to select anything he thought he might be able to get Anders to eat, then settled back and listened to Cerin's report.

"We finally found where they'd entered the castle grounds a couple of hours ago," Cerin explained. "It looks like they scaled the wall; one of the dogs turned up a grapnel and knotted ropes hidden in the bushes, and when we examined the walls there, there were fresh scratch marks on the stones of the parapet. We also had a guard turn up missing, and eventually found his body hidden under a bush between where they came over the wall and the garden; he was patrolling one of the areas they'd have had to pass through en route. I suppose they surprised him and killed him before he could raise an outcry," Cerin said grimly.

"So that's three of my guardsmen the bastards killed last night, then," Sebastian said angrily.

Cerin nodded. "Yes, ser."

Sebastian scowled and angrily took a large bite out of a jam-laden scone, washing it down with tea. "I am very unhappy about this," he said, unnecessarily.

Guard-Captain Cerin nodded in agreement.

"Have you learned any more from the mercenaries?" Sebastian asked.

Cerin shook his head. "Nothing of any real value, just where they were hired and what little they were told about the job – that it involved removing a wanted apostate from the castle, that the templars would take care of him, and they were along to provide extra men to deal with any guards in the way and help carry the apostate once he'd been subdued. The surviving templar has still refused to say anything himself, saying that he'll only speak with you."

Sebastian nodded. "All right. Go and rest, if you can – I'll want you in attendance again after the Revered Mother arrives, when I talk with this supposed seeker. Did the chantry send back any word as to when she'd come?"

Cerin shook his head again. "No, only that would she would attend on you as asked," he said, then excused himself and left.

Sebastian rose to his feet, and returned to where Dugall was trying to get Anders to eat or drink. "Any luck?" he asked quietly.

Dugall shook his head, frowned. "Not really... he doesn't seem to want to swallow. Perhaps Sister Maura will know how to get him to eat..."

"Let me try, I've helped with invalids before," Sebastian offered. "Help me lift him up..."

Dugall gave Sebastian a surprised look, then helped him to lift Anders' head and shoulders. "Helped with invalids? You, M'Lord!"

Sebastian grinned as he sat down, moving so he was sitting behind Anders, the man supported against his chest. He steadied him with one arm wrapped around him, that hand cupped over his throat and chin, and reached out his other hand. "Pass me the tea," he asked. "Yes – there are no princes in the chantry, you know. When I was affirmed, and later an initiate, I did my time going out and doing good works – helping the sick and elderly, labouring to help those who needed it. Reading to the blind, all of that sort of thing. I've done my fair share of spoon-feeding and emptying of chamber pots."

Dugall smiled. "Hard to imagine you ministering to the poor."

Sebastian glanced at him and smiled, then tilted his head to the side so he could see what he was doing with Anders. He coaxed his mouth slightly open, then held the cup to his lips, pouring a little tea in. He tilted his head a little further back, then stroked his throat with a massaging motion of his fingers. "Come on, Anders," he said quietly. "Swallow the tea." He stroked a second time, then smiled as Anders' throat muscles moved slightly, some of the tea dribbling out the corner of his mouth but most going down. "Good boy," he said, and let the mage's head lower again, coaxing his mouth open for a second sip.

They'd managed to get about half the mug of tea and a couple bits of bread softened in milk to go down when they heard voices at the door. One of the guardsmen stepped in. "Beg you pardon, m'Lord, her Grace has arrived to see you."

"Have her shown here, please," Sebastian asked. "And send word for Captain Cerin to fetch the prisoner and bring him here as well."

The guard nodded and left.

"Want me to take over, ser?" Dugall asked worriedly.

"No, that's fine," Sebastian said. "Soak another bit of bread for me, will you?"

The door opened a few minutes later to admit the Revered Mother and her retinue. Sebastian was not especially surprised to see that Sister Maura was among them.

"Forgive me if I do not rise, your Grace," he said, nodding his head as deeply as he could in her direction. "I am somewhat occupied at the moment. Dugall, bring a chair for the Revered Mother, please."

Dugall hastened to do as asked, while Glynis strode over and looked curiously down at Anders. She ignored the chair, and sat down on the edge of the bench instead, lifting one of Anders' hands to feel his pulse, then peering into his staring eyes.

"You might need to bandage his eyes closed," she pronounced. "In this state he may not blink enough to keep them properly moist."

Sebastian looked curiously at her. "You're familiar with this state then."

"Sadly, yes," she agreed, and looked over her shoulder to where her retinue stood in a huddle by the door. "My bag please, Maura," she asked, then turned back to Sebastian.

"I have seen it only three times before, in all cases in people who had suffered through deeply traumatic events. In two cases it occurred directly following the events; one eventually recovered, the second person grew less responsive over time and eventually wasted away and died. In the third it occurred some years afterwards, when strong memories of the event were reawakened. That person also recovered in time. I would assume from what little Sister Maura was able to tell me that this event matches the latter description?"

"Yes," Sebastian agreed. "He was not physically harmed last night, but he was in what I can only describe as an extremity of terror. He seemed to recover somewhat while I was tending him afterwards, then went to sleep. And this morning could not be roused."

Glynis nodded, and took a glass vial out of the bag Maura was holding ready for her. It was filled with some kind of crystals and a little liquid. "Smelling salts," she identified it as she opened it and held it under Anders' nose. After a moment he made a face and twitched away from it. She nodded in satisfaction, closed the vial, and put it away. "He's been swallowing?" she asked looking from Sebastian to the cup still held in one of his hands.

Sebastian nodded. "But only when I massage his throat."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Well. He is not completely unresponsive, and he can be fed. He may recover, in time, if he is cared for and gently treated."

There was a knock on the door just then, and Guard-Captain Cerin entered, his prisoner and a pair of guards at his back. The prisoner was a large, broad-shouldered man with grizzled grey hair and a scar across the bridge of his nose, and light brown, almost yellowish eyes. His armour and weapons had been removed, leaving him dressed in gambeson and leggings alone. He looked sharply back and forth between the people in the group by the bench, then lifted his chin arrogantly.

"Revered Mother Glynis. Brother Vael." he said. "I am Seeker Reynard. I require that the apostate Anders be turned over to my custody for questioning."

Sebastian felt his temper rising rapidly at the man's obviously unrepentant attitude.

Glynis had risen to her feet and turned to face the door as the group had entered. Now her eyebrows rose, then she snorted and moved to sit in the chair Dugall had brought, back stiffly upright. "It would seem to me, Seeker, that you will find it difficult to question the man given the state he is currently in," she turned her head and nodded at Anders.

The Seeker glanced that way and frowned slightly, then shrugged. "He will sober up quickly enough," he said sharply in return.

"He is not _drunk_ ," Sebastian snapped out. "And even if he was well, I would be unwilling to turn him over into your custody after the criminal way in which you acted last night."

Raynard straightened up, his lip curling. "Brother Vael, you cannot protect your paramour from the lawful enquiry of the chantry..."

" _Paramour!_ " Sebastian exploded, rising to his feet so suddenly he almost tumbled the mage onto the floor, Dugall and Sister Maura hastily moving to help untangle him from the man. "Anders is my _prisoner_ , not my _paramour!_ And had you properly presented yourself at my gate and identified yourself to me, I would have been perfectly willing to let you question him. Instead you broke into my castle, _murdered_ several of my guardsmen, and so terrified the mage that he is all but comatose. You'll get no answers from him in the condition he's in thanks to _your_ actions, Reynard!"

"That is _Seeker_ Reynard, Brother Vael..."

"And I'll call you by your proper title once you remember mine," Sebastian spat out angrily. "It is _Prince_ Vael to you."

The man's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping at the side for a moment. Then he gave a short nod. "Prince Vael. I merely sought to remind you of our relative standing within the chantry. I act and speak with the authority of the Divine in Val Royeaux herself, and as such you are _required_ to assist me in my..."

"I am _required_ to do nothing, Seeker Reynard," Sebastian snapped. "You have no authority over _me_. You may request the assistance of local secular authority; you cannot require it."

"Sebastian..." Glynis said softly, frowning worriedly.

He drew a deep breath, gathered himself back together, reining in his anger at the unrelenting arrogance of the man. "Whatever right to requesting my co-operation you might have had, you squandered by your actions last night," he bit out. "The _only_ thing stopping me from holding you personally responsible for, and seeing you hanged for, the deaths of my guardsmen is your rank of Seeker. You will be escorted to the borders of Starkhaven, where your belongings will be returned and you will be released. Do not return to Starkhaven on peril of your life; your rank will not save you a second time. I will be sending a letter to the Divine condemning your actions and asking that you face punishment within the chantry's authority for the deaths your actions have caused. Guard-Captain Cerin, see to his removal and ejection, please."

Cerin nodded, and led the man away, looking stony-faced; he was no happier to see then man walk free than Sebastian was. For his part, Seeker Reynard looked nearly apoplectic with anger.

Sebastian stood a moment, squeezing the bridge of his nose, before finally turning to face the Revered Mother. "My apologies, your Grace, I am... somewhat wroth at the moment."

A small – a very small – smile lifted the corners of Glynis' mouth. "Understandably so," she said dryly, then frowned. "I am afraid this is not at all a good sign. That the chantry would send a Seeker after the mage I can understand, but that they would invade your castle and countenance the deaths of innocent men in their attempt to snatch him... they must be desperate indeed to even consider such. Or this Seeker Reynard is a very great fool. In which case one wonders why such an ill-suited man was assigned to this task."

"Perhaps both are true – that this Reynard is a fool, and that they are desperate," Sebastian suggested, then sighed and moved to stand looking down at Anders. He leaned down and closed the man's staring eyes, remembering what Glynis had said about his eyes getting dry if he didn't blink enough.

"You were speaking of having seen this state before. Are there any further suggestions you can give for Anders' care?" he asked, turning back to her.

Glynis smiled warmly at him. "A thing or two, yes," she agreed. "Sister Maura, my bag again..."


	22. Lowest Ebb

Sebastian looked up from his desk at the quiet knock, and saw Dugall standing in the open doorway. "How is today?" he asked. He, Dugall and Sister Maura had been looking after Anders since his collapse four days ago, taking time in turn each day to see that the mage was fed, cleaned, and moved to different positions to prevent sores forming. Sebastian took responsibility for the evening and night hours, when his work was done and he was typically going to be in the bedroom anyway, while Dugall and Sister Maura split up the daytime hours between themselves.

Dugall frowned slightly. "Same as before, ser. I wish we could get more food into him; it's frightening how fast he's loosing condition. If I didn't know better I'd swear he'd been starved for a week or two, not just hungry for four days."

Sebastian nodded sombrely. "I believe it's something to do with him being a Grey Warden – they all have phenomenal appetites. I've seen him pack away enough at a single sitting to feed two or three men, and that be only enough to keep him at a healthy weight. With as little as we are able to get him to swallow, he's not getting anywhere near enough food."

Dugall nodded. "Apart from that he is still doing well enough; he still reacts to the salts, and makes water. And he, err... voided his bowels a while ago, so physically his health has not begun to deteriorate significantly yet. But if his body is starving..." Dugall frowned and shook his head. "It cannot be much longer before it begins to affect his health, and I don't think there'll be much hope left for him after that."

Sebastian nodded in sober agreement. "We can only do what we can. I assume you're heading back to the clinic now?"

"Aye – I'll send Sister Maura up to take over his care for the afternoon."

"All right," Sebastian said, and rose to his own feet. "Time I stopped and took lunch anyway; I'll keep an eye on him until she gets here."

Dugal nodded, and left. Sebastian rang for his lunch, then wandered into the bedroom to check on Anders. He was turned over on his side, his eyes open again. Sebastian went over and sat down on the edge of the bed, and gently closed his lids, then picked up his wasted wrist in one hand to check his pulse. Still strong.

"You've got us all worried now, mage," Sebastian said softly. "Dugall, Sister Maura, even me... we may be unfriends, you and I, but that doesn't mean I've any interest in seeing you wasting away like this."

He reached out and touched the back of his fingers to Anders' cheek. Warm, but not overly so, and dry. "Sister Maura is praying for you, you know. What do you think of that – a chantry sister praying for the safety of you, a mage. I wonder if you knew, would it make you laugh, or make you spitting mad?" A wry smile twisted his lips. "A bit of both, I suppose. You always did have a twisty sense of humour. I've seen you laugh in the face of madmen and demons, when we were out and about with Hawke. And call out people on their actions right to their face, when you were angry about something – even the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander. You're a brave man when you want to be, Anders – so why are you letting fear rule you now? Or was all that bravery just Justice..."

He frowned in thought for a moment. "No, I don't think it can have been. You were a brave enough man to come here and surrender to me, after all, and that took _real_ balls, given how angry I was with you. Well, I'm not angry with you any more, mage. Or if I am, it's for different reasons now."

He heard the servants entering the sitting room and setting out his lunch, and sighed. "And there's my lunch. Sister Maura will be here to look after you soon," he said, and rose to his feet, walking away. He was surprised to discover how saddened he was feeling over seeing Anders so reduced from the so very _alive_ man he remembered from Kirkwall.

* * *

Sebastian followed Guard-Captain Cerin on a tour of the castle grounds later that afternoon, the man wanting to discuss with him proposed changes to guard routines that would hopefully make it much harder for anyone else to break in undetected as the templars and their mercenaries had. The mercenaries had paid with their lives for their part in the slaying of the guards, but Cerin and Sebastian were both still angry that the event had taken place at all, and that one of the instigators of the deed had had to be allowed to walk free.

"I'm afraid we've been at peace here in Starkhaven for so long that we've become lax," Cerin explained grimly as they walked along the battlement of the outer wall. "We do things the same way they've been done for decades, and don't question whether or not that is the best or most efficient or _safest_ way of doing them. For example, that the guard that they killed on their way to the garden _was_ a lone guard, that it took hours before we even realized he was missing. I think one of the most frustrating parts of this has been realizing that I don't even know remedies for some of the problems we've realized we may face in making the castle properly secure."

Sebastian nodded. "There may be answers among the books in the library; there is a fair deal of military history and treatises among what the Vaels have collected together over the years. If you have an intelligent, trustworthy person who can read, we can set him to studying and see what he can find. Or perhaps we should look among the refugees, for men who've had military or guard experience in the past, though... well, I guess such men wouldn't necessarily be particularly trustworthy."

"No, they're most likely to be deserters, or from the lower ranks; they might know that they patrolled in a certain pattern, but not the reasons why that pattern was good, or even if it _was_ good," Cerin agreed, some of his frustration showing through in his voice. "I hesitate to suggest it, but we may want to look at hiring a mercenary ourselves; someone of high rank with wide-spread experience to advise us. But that still begs the question of whether or not the person would be trustworthy, and I shudder to think of what an opportunity for mayhem depending on the advice of someone _untrustworthy_ could be."

They finished their circuit of the walls and went down an staircase along the inner face of the wall, emerging in a practise yard between a guard barracks and a stables.

"Whatever we do, we'll need to hire and train more men," Cerin said. "I don't want any more lone patrollers; the men should be in at least pairs, or we should have enough of them that they're almost always in sight of at least one other man. I've checked the old payrolls, and I think the number of the guard has been dropping steadily since your grandfather's time; it was at least double the men back then."

"I've realized from talking to some of the older men that the previous Guard-Captain didn't even change anything after mercenaries broke in and killed your family, and we were _still_ using those same patrol patterns, even after having had such a clear and obvious demonstration of just how badly flawed they were. I... wish I'd questioned more, when I was made Guard-Captain after he passed away. I think I'm only just beginning to realize how much about this job I don't know how to do properly – the position was purchased for me, you know," he added, looking slightly shame-faced. "It's not something I earned."

Sebastian nodded. "Well, I doubt that assuming things can just go on as they always have before is a mistake you'll make again. I'm pleased enough with your work so far, Captain Cerin, so don't be thinking I'll be wanting to replace you. Draw up a proposal for taking on and training more men, and a budget for their pay, lodgings, arming, and so forth," he said. "I'll authorize you to start hiring right away. With that many being added, I'd assume you'd prefer to add them over time rather than trying to incorporate a great lump of untested or untrained men all at once?"

"Aye, m'Lord – a few at a time would be safest," Cerin agreed. "If I can hire men who've had previous experience in the army, that would help – they'll already know weapons work and patrolling and standing guard duty. But even then I think it will be a while until we're properly up to the strength we should have."

Sebastian nodded, and said farewell to the man, then decided to cut through the stables on his way back to the keep. He took his time, stopping to admire the horses in their stalls, sometimes pausing to rub a nose.

He really should make the time to ride regularly, he found himself thinking, remembering how sore the little riding he'd done while travelling to and from the harvest festival had made him. He needed to get back in condition for it. Though he supposed it would need to wait until this latest crisis and Anders ill heath were resolved, one way or the other.

He stopped to admire a particularly fine bay gelding, petting its warm nose as it sniffed interestedly at him over the door of its stall. Movement in the empty stall next to it attracted his attention; one of the stable cats, he saw, and a litter of half-grown kittens, all long legs and manic energy, playing together in the straw. He moved over to stand in the open door, then crouched down and held out a hand. The stable cats tended to the feral, overall, but sometimes they'd be friendly or curious, especially when they were young. Most of them crouched down in the straw, watching him suspiciously and ready to run if he proved dangerous, but two came over and sniffed at his hand.

He smiled, then remembered the pages and pages of cats Anders had sketched. Clearly the man had a liking for the little beasts. "I should take one of you to him," he said softly. "Maybe that would catch his interest."

One of the two kittens skittered away at his voice, but the other just crouched down for a moment, only momentarily startled, then stood up, resting one paw on his knee, the other curled up by its chest, and sniffed curiously at him again.

Sebastian gave a low laugh. "Are you volunteering then?" he asked, and on a whim tried picking it up, rising to his feet with it in his hands. Rather than jumping down and fleeing in fright, as he'd have expected, it looked curiously at him and began to purr. He looked it over interestedly; a tom, he saw, with big green eyes and a coat of black-tipped smokey grey. Rather an attractive little beastie, for a cat. Abruptly he decided to take it to Anders; it couldn't hurt, anyway.

* * *

Sister Maura had just left, the guards informed him when she got back to the room. She'd left a note out on the table for him, letting him know how much Anders had eaten – not anywhere near enough – and when he'd last been evacuated. Sebastian's lips twisted in a crooked smile as he put it aside. He'd never have thought there'd be a time in his life where the state of Anders' digestive system would be anything he had even the remotest of interests in.

The thought of which made him frown down at the grey kitten stretched out along his arm against his chest. "I do hope you're easy to house break," he said to it. "I can do without any more messes to clean up."

He carried it on through into the bedroom. At some point Anders had been turned over onto his back again by Maura. His eyes were closed, and Sebastian thought he might be sleeping, though given how little difference there was between actual sleep and just lying there with his eyes shut... he sighed, and put the kitten down on the edge of the bed. It stood motionless for a long moment, looking at Anders, then crept closer, stretching out its head to sniff curiously at his hand, then worked its way up toward the head of the bed, stopping to look at him and sniff again at intervals. It butted its head once against the side of Anders face, then curled up on the pillow beside him, back pressed up against his shoulder and neck, and closed its eyes, a faint purr of contentment escaping it. Sebastian smiled briefly, and left the room.

He returned later, after his own supper, to check on and feed Anders. He stopped abruptly, halfway to the bed. The kitten was on Anders' chest now, paws curled up under it, head up and eyes slitted half-closed. Anders hand was cupping its hindquarters. He'd moved, for the first time since falling into this waking sleep.

He still didn't respond to anything when Sebastian tried to rouse him, still had to be laboriously hand-fed, but... something had gotten through. For the first time, Sebastian began to have hope that the mage really would recover from this.


	23. Awakenings

Something was licking his chin. It tickled. He tried to ignore it, to go back to where he'd been, drifting peacefully at the edges of the Fade, but the licking kept up. And then he heard a purr.

His eyes slitted open, to find a grey-coated kitten crouched on his chest, licking industriously at his chin, its eyes closed in enjoyment. He drew a startled breath and the kitten froze, tongue-tip still sticking out, and opened its eyes. It sat still for a moment, its bright green eyes looking back into his light brown ones, then resumed its licking.

He laughed, a brief, creaky sound that startled him as much as it did the kitten, which leapt up in the air at the sound and fled down to the foot of the bed before coming to an abrupt stop, legs outspread and claws dug into the blankets, looking back at him over its shoulder. He raised a hand, surprised at how much work it felt like to move it even the short distance from lying by his side to touching his chin, and found something dribbled on his chin. He sniffed worriedly at his fingers, then snorted softly. Gravy.

He frowned as he took in his surroundings; not a room he recognized. Large, and panelled in wood, with several sizable tapestries decorating the walls. A huge four-posted bed stood against one wall, draped in richly embroidered hangings, a thick carpet covering much of the floor. Fine white wax candles stood in several multi-branched holders around the room, currently unlit, the room sufficiently brightened by early morning sunlight streaming in the two windows. He craned his head around, and caught sight of a familiar suit of armour in a stand near the door, an unstrung bow resting on pegs on the wall above it. Sebastian's armour and bow – this must be Sebastian's bedroom, then.

But what was _he_ doing here?

The kitten seemed to have decided that his moving around was no threat to it; it turned around and walked back up the bed, along the top of his leg, stopping and sitting upright once it reached his stomach, watching him curiously. He curled his fingers under and moved his hand toward it, frowning when he saw how skeletal his hand and wrist looked. The kitten rose and sniffed at his fingers, then pushed its head under his hand. He smiled, and concentrated on the amazingly hard task of scratching it behind the ears.

They both jumped a little when the door to the room opened and Sebastian walked in, carrying a tray in both hands. He stopped, and smiled widely when he saw Anders looking at him. "You're awake!" he exclaimed jubilantly, and Anders was surprised by how happy the man sounded about that. "How are you feeling?" Sebastian asked anxiously as he hurried over, putting the tray down on a low table side the bed, before sitting down on the edge of it himself.

Anders frowned in thought for a moment. "Hungry," he managed to say.

Sebastian grinned at that. "Small wonder. You've had us all worried, man – you've been out on your back for most of a week now," he said, eyes turning serious, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "We were beginning to fear you weren't going to recover. Here, let me help you sit up, and we'll try and get some proper food into you," he added, and deftly set about raising Anders up and stuffing pillows behind him, so he wasn't flat on his back any more.

Anders found it a little humiliating to realize just how helpless he was; too weak to even help feed himself, Sebastian having to hold a cup to his lips while he drank, then spoon soft food into his mouth. He also found it unsettling how the prince kept breaking into a wide, pleased grin as Anders slowly ate his way though what he'd brought in. The idea of Sebastian being pleased about anything _he_ did was... oddly disconcerting.

"You've eaten it all," Sebastian said after a while. "Would you like some more?"

Anders managed a nod. "Please," he agreed.

Sebastian hurried off with the tray, coming back in a few minutes later carrying a plate instead. "Good thing the servants hadn't been by to clear my breakfast away yet," he said. "Let's see if you can manage something a little more solid," he added, putting the plate down. Anders' nostrils flared and his mouth filled with water at the scents of good food rising from the plate. The kitten immediately hopped down from where it had been curled up on Anders stomach and went over the investigate.

"Hey! Keep your nose out of that, that's not for you," Sebastian scolded it, deftly cutting a length of sausage into little pieces, and began to feed the bits one at a time to Anders.

Chewing was much harder work than he'd ever imagined it being; clearly he'd been very sick. "What happened?" he asked, between bites.

Sebastian frowned. "What do you last remember?" he asked cautiously.

Anders made a face at that, then sighed. He'd asked similar questions often enough in his life as a healer to know the answer might be important. He thought back. What was the last thing he could remember, before waking here, before a long string of strange dreams... even before that... "Working in the clinic, going home... drawing for a while, I think. I remember eating dinner, then I must have gone to bed..." he said, and frowned. There was something else, wasn't there? A nightmare, maybe... he realized he was shaking, suddenly. "Something bad must have happened," he whispered. "What happened, Sebastian? Why am I _here?_ "

Sebastian frowned unhappily as he tore off a bit of scone and buttered it. He held it out for Anders to nip from his fingers before finally answering. "Two templars – one was a Seeker – and a small force of hired mercenaries broke into the castle grounds. They tried to capture you; you somehow discovered a hidden stairway, a passage between the cottage and this room, and escaped them. You were... badly frightened by the experience, and retreated into a waking sleep afterwards..."

Anders shivered. "I... remember some of that now," he said softly. "A shadow at the window. And a wall in the closet, that opened..." he stopped, remembering suddenly what state he'd been in when the wall opened, terrified half out of his mind, and covered in his own bodily wastes... he swallowed heavily. "I would guess my appearance at this end was rather startling," he croaked out, aiming for humour and certain he was failing dismally.

Sebastian smiled crookedly. "You could say that," he agreed. "You gave me quite the start, coming out of the wall like you did. But you recovered enough to tell me there were templars in the cottage, and I summoned the guards. They caught or killed them all," he said, then paused, unsure what else he should tell Anders.

Just then there was a knock on the door. "Come!" Sebastian called out, looking over his shoulder.

The door opened to admit Dugall. He took a single step into the room, then stopped, his face lighting with a pleased smile just as wide as Sebastian's had been. "He's awake!" he exclaimed, then hurried over, stopping beside Sebastian, beaming at Anders. "You're awake!"

Anders laughed dryly. "So people keep telling me," he agreed, and smiled back at the man, surprised by how warm it made him feel to have another person so obviously delighted to see him awake.

"Awake and eating well," Sebastian said approvingly. "See how much more of this you can get into him, I have a meeting with the guildmasters in an hour, and I'd better wash and change. I'll try to find time to talk to you further before I go, Anders, and certainly after I get back, if you're awake," he added, turning back to the mage.

Dugall nodded, and the two men quickly changed places, Sebastian hurrying out of the room. Dugall was still smiling as he took over holding bits of food to Anders' mouth.

"How many days? Sebastian said almost a week..." Anders asked.

"Six days, ser, since you fell into the waking sleep. We've been looking after you ever since – Sister Maura and I, and Prince Vael himself."

Anders blushed. He could well imagine what kind of care he'd needed in that time; he'd done it for others often enough. The thought of other people handling and feeding and cleaning _him_ , on the other hand, was... worse, somehow.

The kitten bumped its head against Dugall's hand, which had stilled, and it meowed. Dugall smiled, and slipped it a bit of sausage. "One piece won't hurt it none," he said virtuously.

Anders grinned. "Not at all," he agreed, and found himself smiling as he watched the kitten crouch down on the sheets, gnawing with its side teeth at the end of the sausage. "He's lovely. Where'd he come from? Or does Sebastian normally have kittens inhabiting his rooms...?"

Dugall smiled. " _He_ brought it here, day before yesterday I think – at least, it was already here when I came yesterday morning, and it wasn't here when Sister Maura left the day before. It seemed to make a difference; you moved on your own a couple of times yesterday."

Anders smiled, felt tears suddenly prickling behind his eyes. "He woke me up, this morning," he admitted. "Licking at my chin. Apparently I was fed something with gravy."

Dugall laughed, and peered at Anders' face. "Still some there, I think," he agreed gravely, then smiled. "If you're feeling up to it once you've eaten as much as you can, maybe we can manage to give you a proper bath again. And a shave, you need one."

"Again?" Anders asked nervously. "I've been bathed already then?"

Dugall gave him a stern look. "Yes. Twice, so don't be getting all fussed about what you look like under your clothes; I've seen it already. Apparently you were in quite the state when you came through the wall; the prince himself cleaned you up that night. He and I bathed you again a couple of days ago; you were starting to get a little ripe after four days. You should see the bathing chamber here – royalty does well by themselves when it comes to comfort. A far cry from the room I wash up in down at the clinic," he added with a grin.

Anders frowned, and chewed more food. By the sound of it, Sebastian had given him a lot of help and care over the last week. He found it hard to imagine the man caring for him, especially with the inelegant sort of things that a helpless body would have required to have done for it. It didn't match his mental picture of the man at all.

He'd eaten about half the plate of food before he suddenly couldn't stomach another mouthful of food, though he was still very thirsty. Dugall carried the plate off, saying he'd be back shortly with more tea.

He lay there quietly, wiggling one finger around while the kitten batted and pounced at it. The door opened again, re-admitting Sebastian, dressed in just a towel around his waist, all pink and damp from the bath. "Dugall is refilling the tub for you," he said as he walked by, heading over to the clothes press and taking out some clothing. He carried the clothes over to the bed, then removed the towel and started dressing. Anders quickly turned his head away, but not before getting a good view of the prince's backside. Which, his traitorous mind insisted on promptly pointing out, was a quite fine specimen of backside, perfectly in keeping with the prince's athletic condition.

"Whoops," he heard Sebastian saying a minute later, and heard him walking closer. He turned his head back to find him standing beside the bed, lacing up the collar of his shirt and blushing faintly. "Sorry, I've got so used to you being here the last few days..." he apologized.

Anders found his mouth twitching into a smile. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he pointed out dryly. "That loincloth you were in at the harvest festival covered even less than that towel did." Carefully avoiding mentioning that he'd been facing that way when the towel had come off. He was amused to see Sebastian blush even darker at his words.

Then Sebastian grinned, and lifted his chin. "Yes, well, I guess we're about even on seeing embarrassing amounts of each other's body then" he pointed out, grin widening as Anders flushed in turn. "Anyway, I'd better go – I'm trying to sell the guildmasters on that idea you had, about helping out skilled craftsmen to restart here. I'll let you know how it went when I get back."

Anders nodded, and watched him hurry off.

* * *

Sebastian was feeling tired out by the time he returned to his rooms later that afternoon. Things had gone well in the end, but it had taken a great deal of talking first.

Sister Maura was still there, and was all smiles as she talked about how much better Anders was looking already, and how much he'd eaten; almost a full lunch, and then a sizable mid-afternoon snack. Sebastian nodded, thanking her again for her help with the mage and seeing her to the hall door, before going to check on Anders for himself.

The mage was lying on his side, dozing, the kitten curled up between his arm and his chest. It looked up at Sebastian as he entered, and gave a tongue-curling yawn, then rose to its feet, arching its back and fluffing its tail before lowering its forequarters in a graceful stretch. Sebastian smiled as it jumped down from the bed and darted over, stopping abruptly at his feet and stropping itself against his legs, purring loudly. He crouched down, and gently scratched it behind the ears. "Hoping I have a treat for you, do you?" he said softly.

Anders snorted. Not dozing, he realized as he looked up, just resting with his eyes shut. Anders opened his eyes and smiled at the kitten. "He seems to like you," he observed. "Have you named him?"

"Why would I name him? He's _your_ kitten, Anders."

"Really?" the man asked, raising his head a little and looking inordinately pleased.

"Yes, I brought him here for you. I thought you might like him," he added, and hurriedly added. "I remembered you telling Hawke once, back in Kirkwall, how much you missed your cat..."

Anders nodded, eyes fastened on the kitten. He leaned forward, letting his hand drop down off the side of the bed, and rubbed his fingers together. "I know just the perfect name for him already," he said as the kitten dashed back over to him. He ran his hand along its back, smiling as it arched up into his touch. "Ashes," he said smugly.

"For the grey colour of its coat, you mean?" Sebastian asked interestedly.

Anders grinned, and gave Sebastian a sly look. "That too, I suppose. No, it was Andraste's Ashes I was thinking of. That's his full name, though since Andraste was a woman I'll just call him Ashes"

Sebastian frowned. "That seems perhaps a little... impious..."

Anders' grin widened. "But he woke me up and healed me, didn't he. I think it's the _perfect_ name for him. That's what Her ashes can do, you know – heal the sick. Or didn't you people up here hear the story of the discovery of the Urn of Sacred Ashes in Ferelden during the blight?"

Sebastian's frown deepened. "I remember hearing a rumour, something about that... it didn't sound very believable, and I've never heard the chantry say anything to confirm it..."

Anders smiled placidly at Sebastian, his fingers still petting the kitten. "Believe it," he said, his voice sounding assured. "I knew the woman who led the group that found them. That won the right to take away a pinch of Andraste's very ashes to heal a deathly sick man," he said, then smiled crookedly. "The funniest part is, she wasn't even human – she's a Dalish elf. Not a believer in the Maker _or_ Andraste. What does that say for the chantry belief about the godlessness of the Dalish?" he asked. "Which may be why they haven't been trumpeting to the four winds that the site of the ashes has been discovered – because it was not _them_ that found the Urn, but a group that included a Dalish elf, an apostate witch, a qunari, and a dwarf. What _does_ it say when unbelievers can find something that the chantry has sought for centuries and not found? And be judged worthy to carry away a pinch of Her ashes, when others, supposed _true_ believers, have failed to do so?"

Sebastian frowned. "I... don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "And you're sure this elf did what she claimed? She may well have been lying to you, you know..."

Anders shook his head, a bright smile on his lips. "Not this woman," he said, voice filled with conviction. "She doesn't lie. Not that anyone has ever caught her in, anyway, and believe me, they've tried to do so."

Sebastian's eyebrows rose. "And who is this paragon of truthfulness, then?" he asked

"Soria Mahariel," Anders said quietly.

Sebastian frowned. "I should know that name... wait! The Hero of Ferelden! You say you knew the _Hero!_ " he asked, shocked.

Anders smiled mirthlessly. "All too well. It's all _her_ fault I'm a Grey Warden – she conscripted me," he said, then sighed. "Mind you the other option would have seen me hauled off and killed for the murder of the templars who'd been guarding me, so technically she saved my life."

"And did you kill them?" Sebastian asked curiously, not really expecting an answer, or an evasive one at best.

"No," Anders said softly. "Darkspawn did it. Though I won't claim it broke my heart to see them die; they hadn't exactly been being overly gentle with me after capturing me." He broke off for a moment, yawned widely before continuing, voice flat and dull. "Funny, that, I had never actually murdered anyone in my life, before Justice and I... merged. _Killed_ a few people, when I was with Soria in Amaranthine, yes, but that was all self-defence – bandits or maleficarum who didn't exactly give us any option about asking 'can't we all just sit down and talk about this over a nice cup of warm tea', you know the type, Maker knows we saw enough of them when we were with Hawke..."

He was speaking drowsily by the end, his eyelids drifting closed. As Sebastian watched the mage drew his arm back up onto the bed, sighed, and drifted off to sleep, the kitten leaping up to curl up against him again. He stood watching the man for a moment, thinking over Anders' words, then quietly left the room.

He wondered if what Anders had said was true. Or rather, how much of it had been truth; knowing Soria, the Urn, the ashes, his conscription... and most of all, if he really had never murdered anyone before joining with Justice.

Of all the things he'd said, that was somehow the one thing Sebastian thought seemed easiest to believe; by everything he'd seen of Anders since his arrival in Starkhaven, the man was a healer by nature, not a killer. Which somehow made the thought of the weight of deaths that he had caused under the spirit's influence all the worse.


	24. New Arrangements

As poor condition as he'd been in before he woke up, Anders made a startlingly fast recovery. By the second day after waking, he was able to sit up and move around on his own, his body already beginning to flesh out again. He grimaced when Sebastian made a comment about it.

"Don't imagine that it's because I'm using healing magic to speed things along or anything foolish like that. This is just one of the very few benefits to being a Grey Warden; we heal quickly," he said sourly. "Which considering it was my being a warden that had me starving so rapidly in the first place, I suppose is only fair payback."

He was still too weak to walk far without assistance, but he made a point of getting dressed in mid-morning – Dugall had to help him with that, his balance wasn't up to the task alone – and then moving out to the sitting room. He sat in an armchair near the window for a while, just catching his breath and getting used to being properly upright. Later he moved to the table, had Dugall fetch him some parchment, a pen, and ink, and contentedly spent the rest of the morning just sitting there doodling up little sketches of Ashes as the kitten explored the room.

Sebastian joined them there for lunch. Dugall was looking pleased and a little anxious at the idea of sitting at table with the prince. He was being almost painfully correct in his manners, and sitting stiffly upright. Anders, for his part, was slumped back in his chair, Ashes sitting interestedly on his lap. He fed bits of things to the cat with his fingers in between inhaling a sizable serving of food himself.

Sebastian, for his part, seemed to be in a quite good mood, pleased with Anders' recovery and with how things were going in the city itself. "And just in time," he explained grimly. "Word has come up the river today that Ansburg is in flames after a battle between two different forces of templars there, one seeking to annul the Circle of Magi based there, and the other to protect the mages in their care. I fear there are many dead, among the townspeople as well as the templars and mages involved, and we can expect a further influx of refugees soon."

Anders frowned. "And if there are mages among the refugees?" he asked quietly, with some trepidation. "Starkhaven has no circle itself, since the fire some years ago... what will you do with any mages who come here seeking refuge."

Sebastian sighed, looking sober. "In truth, I am uncertain what to do," he admitted slowly. "We both saw, in Kirkwall, what terrible damage a single mage can do – I speak not just of what you and Justice did, but the apostates and maleficarum we regularly battled at Hawke's side. I _cannot_ risk leaving such mages at large, yet pursuing them is the surest way to make them react... precipitously. I could ask the chantry to re-establish a new circle here, yet as events in Ansburg has just proven, circles are now targets for the more radical elements. I would also fear raising a second Meredith to power if we again had a formal circle here; the woman's fears of mages were not entirely without merit, but the extent to which she allowed her fears to influence her treatment of the mages in her care, the amount of secular power she grabbed at to further what she saw as her religious mandate..." he shook his head in clear condemnation. "I will not have such occur in _my_ city, my lands, nor to my people."

He sat for a long moment, sipping at his tea and staring off into space, then glanced at Anders. "If you have thoughts on the issue, I would be pleased to hear them. I know the idea of... of how mages and more mundane humans might live in harmony is something you have likely thought on extensively already."

Anders bit his lip in consternation. "Not, perhaps, as much as I should have," he reluctantly admitted. "I think I..." he stopped, looking down at his plate, then forced himself to resume, speaking slowly, finding it unexpectedly hard to continue. "I think, in the past, I concentrated too much on the idea that mages _should_ be free, not locked away and under the chantry's thumb, and not enough on... on thoughts of what would follow such freedom. On how mundane men and mages could live _together_ , not with the chantry ruling mages, as we've had until now, nor with mages subjugating other men, as we see in Tevinter, but... some third way. Some _peaceful_ way."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "Then we will both think on it," he said gently. "You too, Dugall. We must _all_ take thought for how it might be accomplished, because the old ways have failed, and new ways must be found."

Anders nodded. Sebastian changed the subject then, asking Dugall some questions about the man's service in Starkhaven's army, which the man was pleased to answer. Anders sat lost in thought, absently petting Ashes, and after the meal had Dugall help him back to bed.

* * *

Sebastian stepped out from behind the screen he'd had put in corner of the bedroom, and looked across the room to where Anders, already dressed, was sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, stroking Ashes. "Sure you're feeling up to this?" he asked as he finished tying the lace of his breeches.

Anders forced a smile. "I can't occupy the corner of your bedroom forever," he pointed out. "People will talk."

Sebastian snorted, a wry smile twisting his lips as he walked over to push aside the tapestry and open the panel concealing the entry to the hidden staircase. "People are talking anyway, apparently," he said. "That seeker I mentioned – he thought you and I were _lovers_."

" _What!_ " Anders squawked as he rose to his feet, gathering Ashes up in his arms. He sputtered for a moment, torn between horror and laughter.

"Well, I was rather notorious for my, hrmmm... wide-ranging tastes in my youth," Sebastian said, eyes bright with amusement over Anders' reaction. "I suppose the man missed hearing that such affairs were very much in my past. Or simply could conceive of no other reason why I hadn't slain you out of hand for your role in the events in Kirkwall."

Anders nodded soberly. "I expected you to."

"I know. I almost did. Do you know what saved you?" he asked quietly, as he walked over and picked up a branch of candles from the mantelpiece, stooping down to light a spill and touch it to the wicks, each in turn.

"No," Anders said softly.

Sebastian looked over at him from where he was still crouched by the fire. "Grand Cleric Elthina did. I found a letter from her, waiting for me here, when I arrived. She must have written it some time in those final few days, before... before. In it, she said several things to me. Among them, to not seek vengeance, or give in to my anger. And told me to make of Starkhaven 'a place of peace and refuge for those driven before the winds of war'. Which I intend to do, to the best of my ability," he added, and rose to his feet, tossing the half-burnt spill into the grate. "Come. Let's go see your cottage. I've had some work done to make it more secure, and it's been thoroughly cleaned. The templars and their mercenaries were... not gentle, in their search for you, and the battle between them and my guards spoiled it further. Few of them were willing to surrender peacefully, and there was much bloodshed."

Anders nodded, and quietly followed Sebastian over to the staircase and down.

Sebastian paused at the bottom, holding up the branch of candles and gesturing at a ratcheted wheel on one wall. "See this? It seems my great-grandfather gave some thought to what a weakness if the defences of the keep this entry might be. So, if you flee into here, then just lift this pawl..." he suited actions to words. The wheel spun rapidly, and two leaves of a heavy metal door slid out of a gap in the wall to either side, meeting in the middle with a surprisingly dull thud, rather than a clang, so thick was the metal making up the two parts.

"Dwarven work," Anders said, looking in surprise at the heavy door. He stepped forward, tucking Ashes under one arm and lightly touched the immobile surface. "I've seen such, under Vigil's Keep, and at places in the Deep Roads, though those were much larger than this... if dwarfs truly made this, there is nothing short of the qunari's gaatlock powder that could make a dent in it, and even then the stone walls elsewhere would be easier to blow a hole through."

Sebastian nodded. "Hold this," he asked, passing the branch of candles to Anders, then began to work the crank handle that, working through a series of other gears, caused the main wheel to turn and the door to open. It took many turns of the handle to re-open the door by even a narrow gap; it took him several minutes heavy work to reopen the door and latch it opened again. He drew a deep breath and smiled at Anders. "Hopefully there will be no cause to make use of this passage as an escape route a second time, but I thought it might ease you somewhat to know how very securely it could be bolted behind you, if you had cause to use it again."

Anders nodded, then followed Sebastian out through the now-empty closet and into his bedroom. Sebastian watched as the mage set down the cat, which promptly began exploring the premises, then looked around, taking in the changes – new bedding on the bed, a different rug on the freshly refinished floor, a deep scar on the bed-post where someone's sword blade had hit it during the fight between the guards and the mercenaries. Anders stepped over to the window, touched the metal grate that had been installed inside the glass, two heavy bars crossing the space, the gaps to either side filled with a thick wire mesh.

"To keep any future intruders out, and prevent them from firing weapons through the glass at you, more than to keep you in," Sebastian said quietly.

Anders nodded, and led the way into the main room. The windows here were similarly outfitted, the door – broken in when the templars had invaded – replaced with a heavier one, one with a thick metal bar in two parts, that could be levered into holes cut into the top and bottom sills, rendering it as secure as metal and wood could be. Anders snorted as he looked it over, and shot Sebastian an amused look. "Prisoners aren't normally allowed to control the lock of their own door," he pointed out.

Sebastian shrugged. "This is no normal prison, nor you any normal prisoner," he pointed out. "When I accepted your surrender... it placed you under my protection as much as within my power, you understand. And since it has been demonstrated that there are those who will not respect my prior claim on you, I give you a well-defended prison, and a means to withdraw within my own defences if you judge it necessary. I hope it will not be, that this was the only such occurrence we will see, but since I have little doubt that you _could_ escape and flee, somehow, if you felt sufficiently unsafe here, I will do my best to see that you have no reason to do so. Along that line, there is another defence that you will have. Come with me, and we will go pick it out."

Anders looked at him curiously, but when Sebastian gave no further clue as to what this additional defence would be, nodded hesitantly. He bent down and scooped up Ashes, the kitten settling down contentedly in his arms as he followed the prince out the door.

Sebastian led the way across the garden – dying back now, sere and brown as the cool of fall began to turn towards winter cold – and went through the garden gate. The biggest change had been made here; the smaller shelter originally placed beside the gate for the guards had been torn down, and replaced by a guardhouse built around and incorporating the garden gate. A short watchtower rose from the top of it, from which a guard could keep a lookout on the garden walls and surrounding area, and there was a bell that could be rung to summon reinforcements. It was already manned, with four men sitting around at their ease in the secure ground floor room while a fifth manned the tower. The guards rose, folding their arms in salute as Sebastian passed through, a pair of them falling in to follow them across the castle grounds.

It was not a long walk, just around to the west side of the castle, where the royal kennels were located. "We may not be as dog-mad here as they are in Ferelden," Sebastian said as he led the way inside the sizable building. "But we do have some use for the beasts."

Anders looked around in wide-eyed surprise at the size of the hounds penned inside. "Maker! They're as big as horses!" he exclaimed.

Sebastian laughed, nodding at the waiting kennel master before walking over to a nearby pen. "Not quite. Ponies, maybe. These are our wolfhounds; they've been bred for size, speed and endurance. We also have deerhounds here – those tend to be much smaller, so they can course through the woods more easily. They're used to drive prey, not to hunt and kill it as the wolfhounds do." He rubbed between the ears of the dog in the pen, then looked back at Anders. "Neither are as fiercely intelligent as the Ferelden mabari are, but they are fine dogs nonetheless, and almost as loyal."

He turned to the kennel master. "You have some yearling dogs, do you not?"

"Aye, and several older dogs and bitches that are ready to retire from breeding and hunting that would be suitable as well," the man agreed. "I have them out in the yard at the moment," he added, then looked worriedly at the cat in Anders' arms. "Erm. You might want to leave the cat somewhere else," he suggested hesitantly.

"Oh, no no no, the cat stays with me," Anders said firmly. "He's safe with me."

"If you say so," the man said dubiously after a nod from Sebastian, and led the way down the row of pens and out a door to a large, high-walled yard.

There was over a dozen dogs there, most chasing excitedly around after a lure of some kind, a wicker ball with ragged cloth strips knotted to the framework. Even as they watched, one hound caught it and charged off across the yard with it dangling from its mouth, cloth strips fluttering, most of the other dogs chasing in excited pursuit. A few dogs sat or lay around the edges of the yard, watching the others at play. There were both kinds of dogs here, the immense shaggy-coated wolfhounds and a few of the smaller, more graceful deerhounds.

The kennel master gave a single high, sharp whistle and the dogs all stopped, turning to look his way, the lure dropping to the group, forgotten. The resting dogs all rose to their feet as well. Their silence was almost unnerving.

"Err... now what?" Anders said faintly after a moment.

Sebastian snorted, then smiled. "Now we pick out one or two of these behemoths to join you at the cottage."

Ashes decided just then to take notice of the dogs. He rose to his feet, and meowed loudly. Several of the dogs immediately focused on him, staring intently, a couple of them whining, several growling. A pair of them dropped low and slunk to one side, stalking what they clearly saw as a tempting new prey.

Then one of the big dogs sitting at the back heaved up onto all four feet and stalked forward, making a whuffling sound that froze the other dogs where they stood. A great silver-brindle bitch of the wolfhound type, Sebastian saw, as she padded forward through the group of smaller dogs; she must be one of the retiring breeders the kennel master had spoken of. She came to a stop a couple of feet away from Anders, looking interestedly at the kitten in his arms, massive head tilting to one side and ears perking up. Ashes stared back at her, then abruptly settled down into Anders arms again. The bitch leaned forward, and the two sniffed noses. Ashes began to purr.

The kennel master gave a low, relieved laugh. "This is Haelioni. A fine bitch, out of the last litter fathered by your grandfather's favourite dog, Fath," he told Sebastian. "Many of our best wolfhounds are of that bloodline."

Sebastian stepped forward and got the dog's attention. She walked over to him, sat on his signal, and calmly let him look her over, making a pleased sound when he took her great head into his two hands and ruffled the fur of her neck. "She's a beauty," he agreed.

"She's... rather _large_ , isn't she...?" Anders said, sounding a little anxious.

Sebastian glanced at him, and smiled. "That's rather the point, isn't it. Supposing you were someone who'd managed to break into the garden somehow, and then saw _this_ great dog running at you? She'd scare you right back over the wall again, wouldn't she?"

Anders nodded slowly. "Well, Ashes seems to approve of her anyway," he said grudgingly.

"I suppose we should get a deerhound as well," Sebastian said meditatively. "They'll bark up a storm at an intruder, and between that and this girl you'd be well-guarded." He looked at the kennel master enquiringly.

The man nodded, and whistled a few times. Several of the dogs separated from the pack and came over to stand attentively near him, glancing curiously over at Anders, Sebastian and the cat. Unlike the huge shaggy wolfhounds, these were a smaller breed, with floppy ears, tucked-in stomachs, a narrow body and head, and thin, whippy tails. Some were sleek-coated, and some had a longer, wavy coat. Three were pure white, one cream with red-tipped ears, and two a blue-fawn colour with darker muzzle and feet.

"Pass Ashes over to me, and go meet the dogs, Anders," Sebastian said. Anders reluctantly did as told, looking at the pack of deerhounds even more warily than they were eyeing him as he walked over to join the kennel master. The man had him crouch down and try to call the dogs over. They looked at him and some curiously moved a few steps closer to sniff in his direction, but they hung back.

"It could be the smell of cat on him is putting them off," the kennel master suggested. Then one of the dogs abruptly moved forward, the cream one with red-tipped ears, one of the wavy-coated kind. It stopped halfway to Anders and stopped and sniffed, then slowly edged forward, finally stretching out its nose to whiffle at his shirt and then sniff at his face. Its plumy tail began to wave slightly from side to side.

"And what's the name of this handsome lad?" Sebastian asked, sounding pleased.

"Ganwyn," the kennel master promptly answered. "He's a bit on the excitable side at times, but a good dog overall."

He found leads for the two dogs, and then hesitated, obviously unsure as to whether to hand them over to Anders, who'd already reclaimed Ashes and backed away from the dogs, or to Sebastian, his prince.

Sebastian solved the quandary for him by stepping forward and holding out his hand for the leashes. He nodded his thanks to the man, then turned to lead dogs and mage away, back to the garden. Anders, he noticed, kept glancing apprehensively back at the dogs as they walked.

"Don't tell me you're frightened of dogs?" he said, puzzled, when they were about halfway back. "You're from Ferelden, after all..."

"From there, yes, not born there, remember... anyway, I'm a cat-person. I... don't really know what to do with a dog. Much less _two_ dogs. Much less a pony masquerading as a dog."

Sebastian laughed. "Don't worry, they can largely look after themselves. Don't let Haelioni's size scare you; the wolfhounds are generally great big softies, unless you're a wolf or an intruder, and then they're death on four legs."

"And what if she mistakes _me_ for an intruder?" Anders asked worriedly.

Sebastian grinned. "She won't," he said calmly, voice filled with assurance.

When they got back to the garden, he let the dogs off their leads. The two promptly headed off in different directions, both exploring. Haelioni walked around slowly and carefully, thoroughly sniffing over anything that caught her interest, while Ganwyn dashed around seemingly at random, sometimes stopping to sniff at things but mainly just bouncing around excitedly. He bounced too enthusiastically near Haelioni and she turned and gave him a look and made a faint sound. He immediately stopped, lowering his head and tail and whining. She snorted and turned away again, and he slunk some distance away before recovering his equilibrium and returning to his previous bounciness, carefully keeping away from the larger dog.

Sebastian laughed, then turned to Anders. "Well, I should get back to work," he said regretfully. "The servant will bring food for the dogs as well as your dinners. I've told Dugall and Sister Maura to expect you back to work in the clinic in another two days time; judging by your progress so far you should be recovered enough by then. I'll see you again the day after that, for chantry services, if not before."

He turned away and went in through the cottage, retrieving the branch of candles along the way, closing the entry to the staircase behind him. He found the expression on Anders' face right before he turned away haunting him, on the climb back up. He'd looked... rather unsettled. Frightened at the thought of being left alone there, probably.

But he wasn't alone, not really – there were guards in the gatehouse, and he had the cat and dogs for company. He'd be just fine, Sebastian told himself. Arriving back in his room, he blew out and put aside the candles, then rang for the servants to come and remove the bed and things from Anders' brief tenancy of his room.

Maybe he should get himself a dog as well, he thought as he retired to his study, remembering Fath, his grandfather's dog. Something to keep him company here, in these rooms that had never seemed quite so... _empty_ , before Anders' two-week tenancy.


	25. Distant Stormclouds

Anders pulled on his good clothes to wear to the chantry, feeling even more unsettled than he had on his first trip there with Sebastian. _Knowing_ that templars were after him now, even worse, a seeker, and that they knew he was to be found in Starkhaven... it made him even more nervous about leaving the castle grounds, even in Sebastian's company.

Though he was looking forward to seeing Sebastian again. He hadn't seen him since the prince had left him here at the cottage with the dogs. At least the dogs were tolerably good company, he found himself thinking, smiling as he turned his head to look at where Ganwyn was sprawled on his back on the bed, Ashes crouched up by his head and industriously grooming the dog's floppy ear.

He'd been... rather unsettled, the first night here, unable to bring himself to even enter the bedroom, much less lie down and try to sleep. Then the dogs had shown up at the cottage door, wanting in, and seeing Haelioni stretching out comfortably on the floor in front of the big fireplace in the main room, while Ganwyn scurried around sticking his nose curiously into _everything_... something had eased a little then, inside his chest, and when Ganwyn had eventually started sniffing curiously along the bottom of the bedroom door, he'd gone over and opened it. And followed the dog in.

Ganwyn had promptly jumped up on the bed, dirty feet and all, and made himself at home, and Haelioni had followed them in and stretched out along the wall between the closet door and the bedroom door, and between the two dogs and Ashes the bedroom had felt an awful lot smaller, and somehow a lot friendlier. He'd gone to bed fully dressed, but at least he'd finally managed to lie down, Ashes purring away on his stomach and Ganwyn stretched out nearby, warm brown eyes watching him attentively.

He'd still tossed and turned for hours before finally sleeping. He'd waken the next morning to the sound of birds out in the garden, with Ashes curled up under his arm, and Ganwyn stretched out along the back of his legs, long elegant head resting on his hip, Haelioni lounging watchfully on the floor nearby, head raised but otherwise looking utterly relaxed. Seeing the two dogs so obviously unworried somehow made him feel _safe_ , as no amount of guards or bars or boltholes could.

They'd quickly sorted out a routine, the dogs and cat all wanting out first thing in the morning to take care of their business. Ganwyn went romping around enthusiastically burning off some of his excess energy while Haelioni took a more sedate turn around the edges of the garden, clearly patrolling the bounds to make sure nothing had slipped in over the walls overnight.

Afterwards they'd breakfasted together, him sitting at the table with his tea and bread and cheese, while the two dogs hungrily ate their way through bowls of food brought over from the kennels for them by one of the dog-boys. Ashes crouched on the table begging bits of cheese from Anders at first, and then jumped down to go over and investigate the dog's breakfasts, sticking his head in and eating right alongside of Ganwyn, who looked surprised and worried to see some of his breakfast disappearing into the tiny feline, but was easily appeased with an offering of bread and cheese. And then Haelioni needed some as well, just to be fair about it, and an awful lot of bread and cheese had disappeared before they'd finally finished eating. After which he'd gone up to the loft, and written a little and drawn a lot, with the big dog sprawled out on the rug nearby and Ashes and Ganwyn playing some complicated kitten-and-dog game around the furniture.

He'd stopped feeling scared at some point, and not quite so alone. Though he did miss having someone to talk to, and was very glad the next day to head off to the clinic, even if it meant leaving the dogs behind in the garden. He took Ashes with him though; nothing, he felt, could possibly separate him from his cat, now that he finally had one again. He refused to entertain the idea. The kitten napped quietly on one end of a bench in the examining room while Anders caught up with Sister Maura and Dugall about happenings in the clinic during the two weeks he'd been... indisposed, and he spent a couple of hours there seeing patients, before finally returning to the cottage.

And today he'd see Sebastian again, at least briefly. Though there was still the problem of how to manage taking Ashes with him to the chantry. He was too large and leggy to be stashed in one of the coat pockets. The sleeves of the coat were rather full and loose, though... a little experimentation later and he was holding one arm carefully crooked, Ashes stretched out contentedly in the drape of sleeve between elbow and wrist.

And just in time, the dogs both suddenly looked around, Haelioni rising to sit upright while Ganwyn scrambled off the bed and dashed out to the front room, both looking expectantly at the front door. Ganwyn gave a single loud bark.

"It's just me," a familiar voice called. Sebastian. Anders hurried to unlock the door and step outside, the two dogs following along, wagging their tails welcomingly at the sight of Sebastian. He was looking tired, with bags under his eyes as if he hadn't slept, and more than a little harassed as well, his hair mussed and his mouth frowning slightly. He still took the time to pat the dogs each on their heads, then looked Anders over, and nodded in approval. "You're ready, good," he said, and turned away.

"What's going on, you look... a little tired," Anders said worriedly.

Sebastian grimaced, as he hurried back across the garden. "Refugees from Ansburg started arriving late yesterday. With more to come; they're coming by both the river and overland, and Maker only knows how many we're going to get. The coast is a mess right now, different factions fighting everywhere, and the Tevinter slavers are reportedly out in force, so very few wanted to attempt fleeing downriver."

"Damn," Anders said.

"Yes, well, at least we already had things set up to handle the influx," Sebastian said, smiling humorlessly. "Only a couple of people have needed to go into the quarantine area yet, but that will likely increase when the people who are walking start to get here; I just hope they make good enough time to beat the winter here. We don't get much snow, thankfully, but the cold rains will be miserable, and it's all too easy to get fatally turned around in the fogs we sometimes get."

Anders nodded, hurrying along at his side down the hill from the castle toward the chantry. The chantry was more crowded inside than he'd ever seen it before, with many clusters of people in intent conversation. Several well-dressed men and women hurried over to speak to Sebastian as soon as he entered; some he gave hurried answers to, others he asked to speak with at later times. It took them almost half an hour to get from the front door to the royal box. Only then did people reluctantly move to their seats and the service finally get underway.

Sebastian frowned at Anders as the choirs rose to sing towards the end. "Is something wrong with your arm?" he asked in a low whisper. "You've been holding it stiffly all morning."

"No, nothing," Anders hurriedly assured him, pretending great interest in the singing. Which was actually quite nice, a fairly jubilant song of thanksgiving.

Ashes grew tired of hiding somewhere toward the end of the service. Anders felt the cat shift, then wiggle and crawl forward to peer out the cuff. He hastily blocked the cat's exit with his other hand, scratching the kitten's chin soothingly.

The movement caught Sebastian's notice. He glanced over and down, then his eyes widened almost comically. "You brought your _cat_ to the chantry!" he hissed in disbelief.

"Of course," Anders murmured back, keeping his attention on the lectern, where a short-sighted sister was laboriously chanting her way through a reading from the Canticle of Trials. "I wasn't going to leave him behind on his own. You're missing the reading."

Sebastian gave him a _look_ , then turned his attention politely back to the speaker. "We _will_ speak of this later," he muttered back.

After the service ended, Sebastian was again inundated with people wanting to speak with him; then a young priest pushed through the crowd, and asked Sebastian to attend on the Revered Mother.

"Of course," he said, and turned to bow slightly to the people trying to get his attention. "I am sorry, I will try to find time to speak with you all later," he said, raising his voice to a carrying tone. "Revered Mother Glynis requests my presence right now. Thank you."

They were disappointed, but finally withdrew, some few remaining to talk in groups while most exited the chantry at last. Sebastian followed the priest away, Anders and their guards perforce accompanying him. They went out a side door, then through a maze of corridors and staircases before being shown into the Revered Mother's office. She was standing near a group of seating around the fireplace, and smiled warmly at Sebastian as the two of them entered, their guards remaining outside the room. "Prince Vael, thank you for coming."

"My pleasure, your Grace," he said, the two exchanging formal little bows. Glynis motioned towards the seating. "Please, join me," she offered, moving to take a seat. Sebastian moved to sit as well. Anders hesitated, not quite sure if he should sit as well, remaining standing, or even have remained out in the hallway with the guards. Sebastian solved his dilemma for him, gesturing for him to sit down as well. Glynis glanced curiously at him – this was her first time seeing the man awake and well – then dismissed him from her notice for now.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Ansburg refugees, of course," she said, frowning slightly and leaning forward in her chair. "I fear what a destabilizing influence they may become here, especially as there are likely to be representatives of all different factions among them, templars and mages both."

Sebastian nodded grimly. "I, too, fear what this could bring. I am hoping that you will be able to exercise some control over whatever templars arrive. As to any mages – I am at a loss to decide how they can best be handled," he said, and explained his fears about both the lack of a proper circle in Starkhaven to control such mages, and what a target such a circle would be if they formed one.

"We will need to find some solution quickly, I fear," Glynis said. "One of the refugees that arrived by boat yesterday had been sent on ahead by the templars who had been defending the Ansburg circle. Such templars and their charges who escaped the devastation plan to make their way here, by foot since they had no hope of making it to the riverside docks. He estimates it will take them at least two weeks; it is a long way on foot, and they have young children among them, which will slow their travel. They must also travel cautiously and by back roads, in hopes of avoiding any who wish to harm the mages – both the remnants of the opposing faction of templars and frightened townspeople may seek to do so."

Her lips thinned. "I have also received a rather odiously worded letter from a templar claiming to be the Knight-Commander of the 'legitimate' faction, demanding that I turn over any mages that arrive in Starkhaven to him to face summary justice. Summary justice for _what_ , he neglected to specify."

"For being mages," Anders said bitterly, voice quiet. Sebastian shot him a reproving look for interrupting, but Anders didn't see it, having his head down, concentrating on petting Ashes, who'd crawled out of his sleeve at some point and was now sitting quietly with paws tucked under in his lap. Glynis gave Anders an equally sharp look, looked briefly amused as she noticed the kitten, one eyebrow arching just slightly, then turned back to Sebastian.

"I fear the mage is right. There have always been those among clergy and lay-folk both who have interpreted mage powers as a curse, who feel that the Maker will not return his attention and affection to us, that the Golden City will not be restored, as long as mages are allowed to live. Who feel that since it was mages who caused the Black City and the blight, that only their blood will cleanse these things. This is not a belief I subscribe to – I _cannot_ believe the Maker has any wish to see his children at odds with each other, slaying their brothers and sisters." Glynis said, sitting sharply upright.

"In the long term, we _must_ find a way to dwell peacefully together," she continued. "And in the short term, we will have to decide how to handle the remnants of the Ansburg circle once they reach here, and any other mages currently at large within the general population. I am sure there must be many of them now, both mages who have grown up or remained hidden here since the Starkhaven circle burned, and among the refugees from Kirkwall and elsewhere."

Sebastian frowned. "What exactly did lead to the fire in the Circle here, anyway?" he asked. "All I know is that it burned during the year of the blight, that some of the mages escaped in the confusion – we ourselves encountered some of those in Kirkwall later – and that the remaining templars and mages were relocated to the Gallows in Kirkwall."

Glynis frowned, and glanced uneasily at Anders again before continuing. "I am not entirely sure. It _appears_ to have been caused in part by fearful townspeople attacking the tower when word of the blight in Ferelden spread; the old fear, that mages are responsible for and may even cause the blights. But I have heard that several of the leaders of the mob attack on the tower were not people that anyone was later able to identify. Whether they were merely protecting their own, or whether it meant there were foreign instigators involved... well, whichever it was, a fire then broke out in the tower. Reports vary as to whether it was caused by an apprentice mage panicking and losing control of their powers, an organized attempt by frightened mages to drive back the mob, or even set by the mob themselves in an attempt to burn out the mages."

Her lips thinned, and she paused for a moment before sighing and continuing. "In any case, the tower burned. Some small part of the mob tried to harm the mages when they began emerging from the tower, driven forth by the flames, but most of them put aside their anger when they saw there was children among them, and between those and the templars the greater part of the mages were saved. In the confusion many of them fled; some scattered and remained in Starkhaven, and we know of at least two distinct organized groups that remained together and travelled away – one south to Kirkwall, and another that was tracked heading north to Tevinter."

Anders looked up at that, startled. "I'd forgotten how close this is to the Imperium," he said quietly.

Glynis nodded at him. "Yes. It is my belief that if there were foreigners involved in the burning of the tower, that they most likely originated there. We have had problems with the Tevinter magisters before, this being one of the closest circles to their lands prior to its destruction, and doubtless a considerably easier target for them than the circles in Nevarra City and Hossberg. They see our mages as more properly belonging within their domain."

Anders smiled crookedly. "I could almost agree with them. Life as a magister is doubtless considerably more salutary than life as a circle mage," he said lightly, with a faint air of challenge.

Glynis snorted. "You are a fool if you think that life as a magister is what awaited any mages foolish enough to flee from Starkhaven to Tevinter," she said sharply. "The magisters are ever hungry for slaves, and those who are mage-born are among the most prized. Perhaps one in a thousand mages becomes a magister – the rest are lackeys, slaves, and thralls."

"Blood magic is outlawed in Tevinter..." Anders began, almost hotly.

Glynis laughed. "And do you believe that means anything? A law means _nothing_ if it is not enforced. No, Anders, if you wish a true picture of life in the Imperium, speak to those who have left it, not those who wish to go there, or those trying to lure unsuspecting mages into fleeing there. I have a considerable library of writings based on interviews of those who have fled over our borders from the Imperium over the years – I grant you leave to make free of it. Truly, I think such should be required reading for all mages," she added, voice hardening. "Save that those who most need to have their eyes opened are least likely to believe the words of escaped slaves and fleeing farm-folk, believing it chantry lies and propaganda."

"You know Fenris spoke of this, Anders," Sebastian said softly. "Of what life in the Imperium is _truly_ like. You just didn't want to believe him, wanted to believe that his master was at worst an isolated case."

Anders subsided, frowning. "I... would appreciate being able to read such works as you've collected," he said to Glynis, with surprising humbleness. He glanced at Sebastian. "Sebastian has asked me to think on the question of how mages and men might live together peacefully. I should be better informed, first, I think," he said quietly, looking back down at Ashes again, gently running his hand along the kitten's back.

Glynis smiled. "That is a good start, then – admitting your own ignorance is never an easy thing."

She rose to her feet and tugged on a cord to summon her secretary, then stepped to her desk and scribbled out a note. She handed it to the woman when she entered. "Fetch these books for me, please," she asked, then returned to her seat. "You may borrow them for as long as you need them. I will be interested to hear you thoughts later," she said, then turned back to Sebastian.

"That aside, we must still decide what to do with the mages and templars that _are_ on their way here now. I do not think putting them in with the other refugees would be a good idea, for their safety as much as anything else. Emotions will still be running high among those who lost their homes and livelihoods in Ansburg or Kirkwall."

Sebastian nodded. "We will need some place that can be rendered reasonably secure for them to live, while a more long-term solution is sought," he agreed. "I have several manor houses and fortified keeps in my possession, as Prince of Starkhaven – normally these would house collateral lines of the Vael family, siblings and their families, close cousins and so forth, but as the Harrimans killed almost all such, many of them are currently empty apart from whatever servants and guards remain to safeguard and maintain them. Perhaps one of those might be suitable."

Glynis nodded. "A good thought. The chantry also has a few minor holdings throughout Starkhaven, though those are mainly small rural locations where sisters and brothers can retire to a contemplative life, and support themselves though simple crafts or agricultural pursuits. No one of them could take in all of the mages and templars, but they might be safer scattered anyway."

Sebastian nodded. "Well, we have perhaps two weeks to come to a decision, by what you said. I will spend this week looking into what of my properties might be suitable, and we can discuss a choice after next week's service, perhaps?" he suggested.

Glynis nodded in agreement. "That would do well."

Her secretary returned with the books she'd requested just then, and they decided that was as good a point as any to end their meeting, Sebastian saying formal farewells before the two men returned to the castle.


	26. Treachery

Sebastian frowned in thought as his horse cantered easily along the broad path that led from the riverside road up around the city walls, his mounted guards riding easily along behind. He'd headed out early this morning to go and look at two of his nearby properties that might be suitable for housing the mages. There was a large manor house some miles downstream from the city, which had been his first thought as a place to put them. It was in reasonably good condition, but it was located quite close to the river and had no real protective walls, being more of a casual summer retreat for members of the Vael family than anything meant to hold off any sort of intruders.

Coming back they'd stopped by a old hill-top keep, also a holding of the Vaels, which might do for housing the mages except that it was in rather deplorably shabby condition. It had a caretaker living there, and a small force of guards that lived in a small barracks within the wall and saw to it that the place didn't become home to squatters or bandits, and apart from that had been gently going to ruin for decades. The caretaker was senile and should have been replaced long since; the place was thick with dust, debris and cobwebs, the man having done nothing to keep it secure against weather and wildlife for some years. Though apart from its filthy condition it was well-placed and quite defensible. It was perched on top a steep wedge-shaped hill, two sides of which had sheer drops down to the confluence of two small rivers below as they flowed together on the way to join into the much larger Minanter river, allowing easy approach only from the third side. Of all the places he'd checked this week, he thought it might be the best possibility, though cleaning it and rendering habitable again would be a lengthy task.

He turned in through a gate in the city wall, nodding to the guards on duty there, turning uphill at the first corner to continue up to the castle. He slowed and frowned, noticing a disturbance in front of the castle gate. Stopping his horse, he sent a guard ahead on foot to find out what the problem was. The man returned quickly. "A group of refugees from Ansburg that are apparently asking to speak with you, m'Lord," he reported. "They were told you were not here, but have been refusing to leave without seeing you. Some of them have become quite heated about it."

Sebastian frowned, then nodded and started forward again. "I suppose I will have to see what it is they wish," he said. "Be ready in case of trouble."

The gate guards and the group of refugees – all relatively well-dressed men, either well-off merchants or nobles, by their appearance – quickly grew aware of his approach and quieted. Sebastian reined to a stop some little distance from the gathering.

"I am Prince Sebastian Vael," he called out, clearly and calmly. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes," one of the more well-dressed men answered, stepping to the front and looking belligerently at Sebastian, arms akimbo with fists resting on his hips. "We demand to know what you intend to do about the Maker-cursed mages!"

Sebastian tilted his head questioningly at the man. "Demand, is it? And by what right do you _demand_ an answer of me? You are no man of Starkhaven, to whom I would owe protection in return for sworn loyalty. And even if you were, phrasing your question as a demand is hardly likely to win my support for whatever cause it is you espouse."

A second man pushed to the front, glaring angrily at the first for a moment. "Your pardon, ser – no, none of us gathered here are men of Starkhaven, or at least we were not before arriving here, refugees from the fighting and destruction at Ansburg. Many of us lost everything we had when Ansburg burned; homes, wealth, family members... and now find ourselves reduced to paupers, dependant on the generosity of relatives here in Starkhaven, or charity of the townspeople and chantry. Some among us had already fled similar problems elsewhere – we number not just people from Ansburg, but people from Wycome, Ostwick, Kirkwall, and other cities among us. We worry that the same tensions that have destroyed our old lives will follow us here, as well, and destroy whatever safety we might hope to find here."

Sebastian nodded. "That is well-spoken," he said approvingly. "Believe me, the fear that such troubles may spread here has been uppermost in my mind since I returned from Kirkwall to take my throne, after witnessing the destruction there..."

"Sebastian! _Down!_ " a long-unheard but still familiar deep voice shouted from nearby. Old reflexes, unused since Kirkwall, kicked in, and Sebastian flattened himself against his horse's withers, registering the distinctive whisper of an arrow or bolt passing close overhead even as he dropped.

He quickly slid sideways down out of the saddle, hearing his guards shouting as they realized he was under attack, drawing their horses protectively around him, the gate guards shouting and rushing forward to drive back the group of men he'd been speaking to. Most of them were already falling back, looking shocked and horrified, but some few of them were pulling weapons out of concealment, cursing as they charged toward him.

"'Ware the rooftops, there's at least one archer about," he quickly called out to his guards, looking around and trying to pick out where such might be hidden. He caught a glimpse of a familiar white-headed form racing along the house-fronts nearby, before disappearing down a narrow lane-way between two of them, and then the men reached his guards and all became chaos.

He cursed that he didn't have a weapon to hand, his bow being strapped to the far side of his horse from him, only a single small-bladed dagger on his belt. Being down at ground level among the crowding horses was not particularly safe, the horses dancing around in agitation as his guards and the men on foot exchanged blows. He quickly remounted his own horse. His bow, while now in reach, was unfortunately not going to be of any use to him in these conditions. For now he concentrated on maintaining his seat and keeping a wary eye on the nearby houses.

As quickly as it began, it was over, most of the attacking men down or dead, the surviving attackers and the men they'd apparently used as camouflage both being held at swordspoint by his guards, more guards hurrying out of the castle to assist.

He looked around, and saw Fenris re-emerging from the lane-way he'd vanished down, a bloodied sword in hand – a longsword, not his usual two-handed weapon – and limping painfully. A couple of guards noticed him at the same time and quickly moved to cut off his approach, drawing swords.

"Hold!" Sebastian thundered after them, then quickly guided his horse that way. "The elf is known to me," he called out loudly. "Stand down!"

His guards uneasily sheathed their swords. He halted near Fenris, frowning as he took in the elf's bedraggled, exhausted appearance. He quickly dismounted, tossing his reins to one of the guards, and strode forward. "Fenris! It is good to see you again, man – where have you come from?"

The elf looked up, and blinked, apparently having trouble focusing. "Ansburg," he said tiredly. "I think the knife was poisoned," he added softly, then dropped to his knees.

Sebastian exclaimed and hurried forward the two steps still separating them, catching the elf before he could crash face-first down on the cobbles. There was a bleeding wound in his left forearm, and he was looking pale and shocky. Sebastian noticed in passing he'd been leaving bloody footprints on the cobblestones as he walked; the one glimpse he had of the elf's bare feet as he lifted him up showed that they were worn red and raw, as if he'd walked his feet to blisters and beyond.

"You!" he ordered, turning to the closest guards. "The pair of you, ride to the garden gatehouse and tell the guards to bring the prisoner to the clinic as quickly as they can. Quick, my horse..."

He was soon remounted, Fenris held in front of him. Seeing Guard-Captain Cerin was now there as well, he shouted orders in passing for everyone involved in the disturbance to be held, and for the captain to find him at the clinic afterwards, then set his horse at its best speed through the gates, turning aside to gallop through the grounds to the clinic, his mounted guards racing along in his wake.

He owed the elf his life for that shouted warning, he was sure; let them not be too late to save him in turn from whatever poison was at work in him now.


	27. Antidotes

Anders hurried across the castle grounds, at as much of a run as his long legs could make without either outdistancing his guards or dropping Ashes. He wondered what the emergency was; all his own guards had been able to tell him was that a pair of mounted royal guards had shown up and said he was to be taken as quickly as possible to the clinic, by the prince's orders, and that there'd been an assassination attempt. Then they'd galloped off again.

An _assassination_ attempt... his heart thudded painfully in his chest at the idea that it might be Sebastian himself who was injured. He hoped not. Surely the guards would have said something if that was the case... he slowed a moment as they reached the gated tunnel leading through to the clinic yard and found grim-faced royal guards there.

"Prince's orders! Let us though!" one of his own guards called out, and the men nodded and moved aside. They hurried through the tunnel, coming out in the yard, finding yet more guards there, and horses as well. He hurried over to the main door and into the clinic, looking around. He felt a surge of relief as he spotted Sebastian standing near the examining table, watching Dugall and Sister Maura at work on someone. Sebastian looked up, and a look of equal relief crossed his own face. He hurried forward, grabbing Anders' arm and all but dragging him over to the table.

"Thank Andraste, you're here in time!" he exclaimed. "He's been poisoned... there's a knife-cut of some kind..."

"Who...?" Anders started to ask, then caught sight of a familiar shock of white hair and pointed ears as the head of the prone figure came into his view. "Fenris!" he gasped, and shoved Ashes into Sebastian's hands, and hurried over to the table, pushing in between Dugall and Sister Maura to see what they were doing. He quickly took in the slash in the elf's forearm. Dugall was flushing it with clean water, hoping to remove any remaining traces of whatever toxic substance had been introduced there, while Sister Maura had a poultice in one hand and a standard anti-venom potion in the other, and an anxious look on her face. "Any idea what he was poisoned with?" Anders asked concernedly.

"No, whatever it was didn't leave any traces that we've been able to find," Sister Maura said worriedly.

Anders nodded, then moved around to the head of the table. He leaned down, gently pushing open Fenris' eyelids and frowning at his tightly constricted pupils, felt his temperature, pinched his ear lobe and then checked the pulse in his neck, before smelling first his breath and then, moving back to Dugall's side, the blood flowing from his arm.

"Any ideas?" Sister Maura asked.

Anders shook his head. "No. We'll have to focus on keeping him alive, and hope the poison breaks down and clears out of his system naturally. Keep up the doses of anti-venom, they won't hurt and they might help. What happened?" he asked, turning back to Sebastian.

Sebastian quickly described the scene at the gate – the waiting refugees, Fenris' shouted warning that had likely saved his life, the fight, Fenris' return and collapse.

Anders nodded decisively. "Send some of that crowd of guards outside to find the arrow that was shot at you, and to check down that lane-way for whomever Fenris fought and presumably killed. Tell them to handle the arrow and any weapons they find carefully – there's likely poison on them."

Sebastian frowned a moment, then nodded. "You're right, they wouldn't trust to being lucky enough to make a killing shot," he agreed, and headed outside.

He'd barely disappeared out the door when Fenris stopped breathing. Anders cursed, and grabbed the elf's shoulders, calling forth his healing powers and pouring energy into him, until Fenris suddenly gasped in a great lungful of air again, then resumed breathing on his own again.

"Shit. I'm going to need lyrium potions if he does that much," Anders exclaimed, sagging against the edge of the table. Sister Maura quickly helped him to a seat nearby, then hurried off to her dispensary to get several vials in case of need.

Anders was just putting them away in his pocket, handy if he needed them, when Sebastian hurried back into the room, Captain Cerin at his side. "The good Captain anticipated your thought, Anders," he said.

Anders hurriedly rose and turned, seeing that the man was carrying both an arrow and a dagger, holding then with a fold of cloth rather than bare hands. He quickly strode over and carefully took up first one, then the other, peering and sniffing at the arrow point and then the knife blade. "Both poisoned," he said. "I'm not quite sure with what, though there's a definite odour to the stuff... Sister Maura?"

She came over and examined them as well. "This smell... I think I've read a description of something like this... I'll need to check my references," she said decisively and hurried back to her well-equipped little room.

" _Anders!_ He's stopped breathing again!" Dugall called out.

Anders cursed and hurried back to Fenris' side.

* * *

"Is he going to be all right?" Sebastian asked quietly, sitting down beside Anders on the bench. It had been well over an hour now; Fenris had stopped breathing three times. He seemed to have stabilized to some extent; it had been half an hour now since the last time. His colour was still poor, his breathing shallow and rapid.

"I don't know," Anders said tiredly. "He's still alive, anyway. As long as the poison does no permanent damage..."

Sebastian nodded.

"Where's Ashes?" Anders asked worriedly, raising his head and looking anxiously around.

Sebastian frowned. It was at least the fifth time the man had asked the question. "Sleeping on the surgery table," he pointed out, after glancing that way to make sure the answer was still true, as it had been all four previous times. "Want me to fetch him for you?"

"No, let him sleep," Anders said, and dropped his head tiredly onto his hands, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

Sebastian frowned at him. "Are you sure you shouldn't take another potion? Or lie down and rest, yourself?" he asked in concern at the man's obvious exhaustion.

"Lyrium potions are dangerous. I'll take one if I need to, but not before." Anders responded. "And if I lie down to rest, I might fall asleep, and then I won't be ready to help him again if he needs it..."

"All right," Sebastian agreed. "No lying down then."

Anders snorted, and turned his head sideways to look at Sebastian. "You're humouring me."

Sebastian smiled slightly. "Maybe. Just a little."

"You're in an oddly good mood for someone who just narrowly escaped assassination."

"It's _because_ I escaped assassination that I'm in a good mood, I suppose," Sebastian said, and leaned back a little, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning in thought. "I could have easily died today. But an old friend somehow showed up just in time to warn me, and so I ducked the arrow that might have slain me. And then _he_ might have died today, too, except I'd spared you, and together we'd created this clinic, and so he is still alive too, despite the poison in his veins. It might be nothing more than pure, blind chance that all three of us are not dead at this very moment. Or it might be fate, destiny, some _purpose_ influencing our lives, that has brought us together in some degree of safety in these troubled times. So yes, I am in a good mood, because I look at the three of us here together again, as I never expected we would ever be when we parted in Kirkwall in such bitterness. And it makes me glad to be alive."

He glanced curiously at Anders. "What about you, Anders? Are you sometimes glad to be alive? Or would you have preferred that I had killed you, when you came before me."

Anders frowned in thought. "I..."

The door to the clinic burst open, Sister Maura hurrying back in; she'd gone down to check the library at the chantry when her references here had failed to turn up anything useful. "I found it!" she exclaimed. "It's a very rarely used poison – it's toxic enough that even experienced assassins prefer to avoid it, as it can easily be absorbed in lethal amounts even through unbroken skin, and requires very careful handling. Quiet Death, it's called."

"Is there an antidote?" Anders asked anxiously.

"Not as such, though if the patient does survive the initial crisis beyond the first hour after exposure, they usually make a full recovery."

"Thank the Maker," Sebastian said quietly, slumping momentarily in relief. "He'll live, then."

"Yes," Sister Maura agreed. "There are some preparations we can give him that will help his body deal with cleaning out the poison as it breaks down. Plenty of liquids, either milk or a suspension of chalk is best. And charcoal tablets."

"All right," Anders said. "You and Dugall see to that – I need to sleep for a while, and then we can start treating the rest of his injuries. Did you see what he's done to his _feet?_ " he demanded, turning to look distractedly at Sebastian for a moment. "Like raw meat. Why the blighted elf never wanted to wear _shoes_..." he shook his head and went into the surgery, picked up Ashes, and carried him down the hall, disappearing into the nearest stall-turned-bedroom, presumably to make use of the cot there, his guards silently following after him, moving to stand guard at the door to the room.

Sebastian sighed. "Well. I suppose I better go talk to Guard-Captain Cerin, and see what if anything he's yet learned about today's attack." he said, then looked at Dugall and Sister Maura. "Send me word immediately if anything changes, either for the worse or for the better."

"Aye, m'Lord," Dugall agreed.

Sebastian paused for a moment, smiling fondly down at the sleeping elf, then turned and left.


	28. Fenris' Story

He didn't know where he was when he opened his eyes. A large white-walled room, medicinal smells, a hard table under his back... all brought back terrifying memories. He jerked before he could prevent it, hissing as sore muscles protested, feet throbbing and burning from the damage he'd caused to them.

"He's awake," an unfamiliar male voice said from somewhere nearby.

That sent him scrambling to his feet, almost falling to the floor as he rolled off the side of the table. Adrenaline surged through him in his fear of being helpless around untrustworthy strangers, driving back the pain of his feet, giving him temporary strength. There were people in the room – a man, a woman in a chantry robe, a guard at the door, two other guards looking at him curiously from down a wide hallway. He backed away from them, looking around for some way to escape.

"Where am I?" he grated out.

The man held up his hands, palms forward and took a step toward him. "It's all right, we mean you no harm..." he said placatingly.

Fenris scowled and backed up further. "Keep away!" he ordered sharply, then demanded a second time. "Where am I?"

There were narrow windows down the hallway – but he'd have to pass too close to those two guards to reach them. Perhaps rushing the door, with its single guard, would be the easiest way out...

One of the guards moved, and his marks flared to life, in readiness for if they charged him... but the guard was leaning in the doorway he was standing at, not moving toward him. The others were all staring at him, with the shocked expressions people often had when first seeing his marks glowing. And then someone stepped out of the door, into the hallway, and he froze in equal shock, faced with the very last person he'd have ever expected to see again.

" _Anders!_ " he exclaimed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

A twisted smile from the apostate. "Hello, Fenris. Saving your life, as it happens. Now before you go and undo all the hard work we put into you, how about sitting down," he suggested lifting one hand to waggle his fingers at the benches filling the room, the other hand occupied with holding something cupped against his chest.

Fenris straightened up, sneering to hide a wince at the effort it took. "I do not follow _your_ orders, mage," he spat.

Anders shrugged. "It's not an order, it's a suggestion," he said, then turned to the man still standing nearby. "Dugall, go fetch Sebastian, would you? Tell him I said broody is awake and needs to see him."

Dugall snorted, then looked back and forth between Anders and Fenris. "I thought you two were old friends?" he asked warily.

Anders grinned. "Acquaintances at best. Fenris and I have never been friends," he said, then turned back to Fenris. "But I'm not your enemy, either. Look, I'm sitting down, quietly, over here. How about you sit down over there, and we'll wait together for Sebastian to come and say hello, shall we?"

Dugall frowned, then shrugged and left. Anders sat down on a bench at the far side of the room, his back against the wall, and placed what he'd been holding down on his lap. A kitten, Fenris realized with some perplexity. He backed over to the nearest bench, and slowly lowered himself to it, keeping wary eyes on the mage. The woman in the chantry robe edged over to stand near Anders.

"What _are_ those markings?" she asked, looking perturbed. "I'd thought them brands, or some kind of tattoo..."

Fenris growled, and glared at the mage.

"He doesn't like talking about them, or having them talked about," Anders told her, then looked at Fenris. "People _will_ ask, you know. And since Sister Maura here is going to be your pharmacist during your recovery, she might actually need to know."

Fenris scowled at the mage, then snorted and looked away. "Tell her, then," he said, voice flat.

"They're lyrium," Anders said. "A magister had them done to him."

" _Lyrium...!_ " she exclaimed, eyes widening. "But that amount of it..." she began, then abruptly stopped, and took a seat near Anders. "What a terrible thing," she said quietly. "Terrible and terrifying."

Fenris shot her a faintly surprised look, then stiffened as he heard fast-approaching footsteps. And then Sebastian stepped into the room, and he felt a rush of relief. Anders had at least been a familiar face, even if not someone he'd particularly wanted to see – but Sebastian's was a friendly one, a welcome sight, and he felt most of the knot of tension inside him melt away at the welcoming smile on the man's face.

"Fenris! I'm so glad to see you awake again, man!" Sebastian exclaimed as he strode across the room. He stopped a long step away, and frowned down at him. "But should you be up on your feet like this?"

"No, he shouldn't be," Anders said, rising to his own feet again. "We still need to finish treating him. His feet, in particular, will need care before they become infected. The sooner the better. I'm rested enough to do it now, if he'll permit it."

Fenris scowled at the mage, but had to admit the truth in his words.

"Will you come lie down again, and let Anders tend you, my friend?" Sebastian asked softly.

Fenris gritted his teeth, then nodded, and rose to his feet, walking stiffly back over to the table where he'd first woke, and sitting down on it. He looked at Sebastian, who'd followed him over. "You'll stay with me while he does it," he said, voice flat and harsh.

Sebastian smiled, just slightly, recognizing the abrupt order for the plea it was. "Of course I will," he agreed, then raised his voice just slightly, glancing over at the guards nearby. "Someone fetch me a chair. There should be one upstairs in the kitchen."

One of the guards hurried off up a nearby set of stairs. Fenris slowly turned, raising his legs onto the table as well, stretching them out along the top. Anders walked over, the other two – clearly his assistants – trailing along hesitantly behind. He crouched down at the end of the table, looking closely at Fenris' feet without touching them, and hissed through his teeth, then looked up at Fenris, meeting his eyes.

"We'll have to clean them first, there's bits of rock and wood caught in the flesh, and dirt all over them. It's going to hurt, thought hopefully not quite as badly as actually _doing_ that to your feet likely did. Do try not to do the magical fisty thing on me while I'm working, hmmm?" he said lightly, then turned away, already rattling off orders to the other two as to what he'd need.

Fenris snorted, and watched warily as the two of them moved off. Anders held the kitten out to Sebastian. "Hold him for me, would you?" he asked distractedly, already leaning down to look at Fenris' feet again. Sebastian said nothing, but accepted the kitten. Anders turned away after a minute, and started hauling a bench over to where he could sit on the end of it while tending to Fenris' feet.

The guard returned with a chair for Sebastian just then, and he directed him on where to place it, before sitting down beside the table, putting the kitten down in his lap and looking curiously up at Fenris. "So, how about telling me how it is that you showed up here just in time to save my life?" he asked. "What have you been up to since we parted in Kirkwall?"

Fenris was glad of a distraction, and looked away from where Anders and his assistants were getting ready to begin work on his abraded feet. "After Anders fled and you left, I stayed with Hawke. He decided to side with the mages, which I thought a poor choice at the time."

Anders snorted as he sat down on the end of the bench, which earned him a glare from Fenris, but otherwise the mage didn't comment.

"Subsequent events proved that both choices were equally bad," Fenris said, frowning at his memories of that eventful day. "Many of the mages, driven to extremities of terror by the events of that day, gave in to demons and became abominations. And then, in the Gallows, when we were _winning_ against the templars..." he paused, gritting his jaw in remembered anger. "The Senior Enchanter, Orsino – he went mad. He turned to blood magic, turned on _us_ , who were helping him. He somehow fashioned a gigantic beast out of the flesh of dead mages, and attacked us."

He glanced at Anders, then turned back to Sebastian. "By his words at the time, it sounded like Orsino was aware of the hellish experiments being done by the mage who murdered Leandra Hawke, that the beast was some extrapolation from that madman's work. The beast was worse than any abomination I had ever seen before. We killed it, eventually. By then there were very few mages surviving. And then Knight-Commander Meredith showed up, with further reinforcements..."

He stopped again, this time as he stiffened in pain and hissed through his teeth as Anders began tweezing bits of debris out of his flesh. Anders looked up, a flash of sympathy in his eyes for the pain he was causing. "I'm going to have to hold your ankle to keep your foot still while I work on it," he said softly. "Do try not to kick me in the face."

Fenris glared at him for a moment, then gave a stiff nod. "Do it," he said, and scowled as the mage took hold of his ankle, his firm grip necessitating that his hand come into contact with several of the lines of lyrium etched there. A glow sprang up around his hand, and Fenris cursed, then forced his attention back to Sebastian, doing his best to ignore the nauseating mix of sensations from his foot.

"Go on," Sebastian said quietly, reaching out to rest his hand on the edge of the table, fingers curled under in a loose fist. Fenris glanced at it, then away again, declining the offered comfort.

"You remember the red lyrium idol that Hawke and Varric had found in the Deep Roads? The one Bertrand apparently went mad because of?"

"I recall the story, yes," Sebastian agreed with a firm nod.

"It seems it was Meredith who bought it from him. She'd had the lyrium incorporated into that great sword she carried around everywhere. And it had driven her mad, just as it had Bertrand."

"Not that she was all that _sane_ to start with..." Anders muttered, then looked up as Fenris' words sunk in. "Wait, you really mean it – as in even more crazy than she already was?"

Fenris glanced at the mage in distaste, then slowly nodded. "Yes. I don't know how much of her insanity was a pre-existing condition, and how much caused by the red lyrium, but on that day she was certainly reacting like a madwoman. Hawke was still determined to protect the handful of remaining mages – her own templars turned against her, Cullen agreeing that the role of templars was to protect the mages in their charge, not needlessly slaughter them for an act none of them had been involved in. She... snapped, and tried to slaughter all of us, the mages and templars as well. It seems... unbelievable, to describe now, but the lyrium somehow enabled her to give a false life to the statues in the Gallows courtyard, making them move about and attack us, like golems I suppose."

Anders looked up from his work again. "Lyrium actually is involved in making golems mobile, but it takes more than just that," he said, and glanced at Sebastian. "Remind me to repeat for you the story the Hero told us all about the golems and how they're made, some time – it's a very salutary tale about power and its abuse," he added, then bent back to his work.

Fenris hissed and twitched at the resumption of the little stabbing pains in his feet, then forced himself to continue his story. "Many of the templars were slain in helping us defeat the statues. In the end, it seemed as if Meredith... overstepped what she could accomplish with the sword. Its powers fed back into her, and destroyed her where she stood. She... charred, her very flesh turning into a giant cinder, heat radiating from her like a furnace. It was... terrifying. Cullen and the surviving templars took the few living mages who hadn't fled under their protection, said they would take them away and find a place of safety for them. And Hawke and the rest of us left. Hawke was bitter, about the events of that day. Betrayal on betrayal, all the pointless deaths, the madness... we boarded Isabela's ship and left, all but Aveline and Varric, who felt they had duties to see to there in what remained of Kirkwall; Aveline to attempt to restore peace to the city, Varric to do what he could for any of his guild members still trapped there."

"I'm starting on the other foot now," Anders said quietly. Fenris nodded, and sat stiffly while the mage changed his grip to the other ankle, biting at his lip. Only once the man had started work again did he resume his tale.

"The rest of us scattered after that. We dropped Hawke off at Amaranthine, in Ferelden – he spoke of going to Vigil's Keep, to see Bethany safe there among the Grey Wardens. Then we sailed further south, to Gwaren, where Merrill parted from us, going to seek a new place among the Dalish in the Brecilian Forest, if they would have her. I remained with Isabela for a while, but... the sea life is not for me," he said, before turning to look at Sebastian again.

"I remembered you once inviting me to come to Starkhaven with you, and help train your men. I... don't know if I can actually be of such use to you, but if you could use another warrior..." he said hesitantly.

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "I can always use another good man, Fenris. But come, there is clearly more to your tale. Before you collapsed you mentioned that you'd been in Ansburg. And then, your arrival here just in time to save me... and in such condition..." he added, frowning and nodding his head toward Fenris' battered feet.

Fenris nodded. Abruptly he lay back on the table, feeling weaker than he liked. He swallowed heavily, fighting back nausea.

Anders paused in his work. "Almost finished the worst of it," he said gently, reassuringly. "Just a little more to go, and then I can see about healing them a little."

Fenris snorted. " _That_ will be the worst of it," he informed the mage, then turned his head back to Sebastian again.

"Isabela dropped me off in Wycome. The place was a madhouse; I ended up stowing away on a riverboat to get out of the city. Just in time, from what I hear the place exploded in fighting just a couple of days later. The sailors discovered me when we were halfway to Ansburg. They were... not amused. I ended up having to disembark in mid-river. Unfortunately that meant abandoning my sword," he added grimly, frowning at the memory of being dragged down by its weight, struggling to undo the buckles of its harness before it could drown him, the exhausting swim to shore afterwards.

"I walked the rest of the way to Ansburg, hoping to get another riverboat from there to Starkhaven. I arrived to find the city just beginning to go up in flames, the docks a madhouse of people trying to escape by river... the flames spread with what seemed almost unnatural speed, driven by the winds. The buildings were mainly of wood, wattle and daub, with thatched roofs... they burned all too easily. I fear many died; the flames in some quarters were spreading as fast or faster than a man could run."

Sebastian nodded. "We had a similar fire in Starkhaven, over a century ago. It is said the city burned for two days and nights before finally burning out. Many people died, especially in the poorer quarters. It was all rebuilt in good stone after that, with roofs of slate or clay tile. My ancestors were determined not to see another such conflagration here ever again."

Fenris nodded and continued. "I was looking for shelter, a place to rest fora few hours before resuming my journey, when I chanced to overhear a group of men speaking. One was speaking about how they could hide among the refugees, use them to disguise their entry into Starkhaven. I wouldn't have thought much of it, figured them at worst for smugglers or some other criminals, except as they were leaving one commented about how that 'mage-loving bastard of a prince' must die. And I'd already heard that you'd taken the throne back from your cousin, so I knew there was only one prince in Starkhaven they could be talking about, even if the description of you as 'mage loving' seemed... unlikely, at the time," he said, and glanced pointedly at Anders.

Sebastian gave him a twisted grin. "There is a long story behind that. I'll tell it to you later. So, I suppose you set out for here after that. By boat?"

"No. On foot. I ran as much of the way as I could, walked when I couldn't run, rested only when I absolutely had to. The course of the river winds many more miles than the actual distance between the cities, and riverboats would be having to fight the current all the way, but I had to stay well back from the river most of the way to avoid the tributaries... it was a very long distance to come. I stole a small boat at one point, from a fishing village... that at least got me downriver on a tributary out of the Green Dales and across to the right side of the river."

"By the Maker, no wonder your feet are in such a state!" Dugall exclaimed, impressed. "That would normally take over a week on foot, at a good marching pace – and you did it in, what... four days?"

Fenris frowned. "Longer than that, I think," he said. "Five or six, maybe... it all blurs together. I was... very tired, for much of it."

Sebastian nodded. "And that is no surprise. It's quite a feat you've managed, my friend, but I am very glad you did arrive here in time – and by such a narrow margin! Had you rested just a little longer at some point on the road, taken a wrong turn and had to retrace your steps, anything..." he shook his head. "You used to question why I believed the path of our lives showed traces of the Maker's hand at work. You being here, in time to save me – what else could it be? I refuse to believe that it is sheer chance that you just happened to be at the right place in the right time to overhear those men's words, to understand them, and to act on them in time to save me. Oh, some things _just happen_ , I am sure, but this... I cannot believe this was one of them. It was _fate_ , my friend."

Fenris snorted, and gave Sebastian a slight smile. "Perhaps. But if there is fate, than what of free will?"

Sebastian smiled. "The two are not mutually exclusive. You could have chosen to ignore the men's words, even knowing it could mean my death. You could have chosen a different path at any time. Or to rest longer. Or not to steal the boat. Between Kirkwall and here you have faced a hundred choices, a thousand, and yet your choices and our fates have conspired to bring us together again, here."

Fenris smiled, remembering similar conversations with Sebastian in Kirkwall, over wine in Fenris' quarters there, late into the night. "I am not nearly drunk enough to discuss philosophy with you at the moment," he growled.

Sebastian grinned. "I have missed our talks," he said.

"All right, time for the magical fingers bit," Anders called out. "Just my magical fingers, please, not yours, Fenris."

Fenris nodded, drew a deep breath, and stiffened. "I am ready. Do it," he growled.

Anders rose to his feet, taking a firm grip on Fenris' ankle, and held his other hand just in front of the sole of Fenris' foot. A glow of magical energy energy rose around his hand, then he touched his hand to Fenris' lacerated flesh.

Fenris jerked and began swearing in Arcanum. He grabbed hold of Sebastian's hand, still resting on the edge of the table, squeezing it with almost crushing force as the mage worked on first one foot, then the other. It was over quickly, but even a rapid healing was discomforting, the lyrium and healing magic and injured nerves working together to cause powerful sensations. Pain, this time, which he actually preferred to some of the other possibilities. Pain at least he was experienced at ignoring.

"Well, that's as much as I dare do with magic," Anders said, stepping back and brushing sweat-soaked hair back from his eyes. "The rest of the healing will have to be the natural way, but at least your feet have skin again. Very thin, tender skin, so please don't walk on them for at least a couple of days. At all. Which I know you're going to hate, since it means we're going to have to carry you to a cot, and you'll need to use a bed pan."

"There are times I wonder why I have not yet pulled out your heart, mage," Fenris gritted through his teeth. "This is one of them."

Anders grinned at him. "I missed you too," he said, then turned to Sebastian and held out his hand. Sebastian passed the kitten back to him as he rose to his feet.

"Will you permit me to help you, my friend?" he asked Fenris. "Or I can get the guards to help."

Fenris grimaced. "Better familiar hands," he admitted grudgingly.

Sebastian nodded, then to the shocked surprise of the guards and Anders' assistants bent down, slid his arms under Fenris' shoulders and knees, and lifted him up. "Second door?" he asked Anders, nodding toward the hallway nearby.

Anders nodded, and trailed after the pair as Sebastian carried him down the hall and lowered him to a cot. "He should rest now," Anders said. "Even if he wasn't worn out from days of travel, the poisoning and the healing will have taken a lot out of him."

Sebastian nodded. "I'll be back to see you again tomorrow," he told Fenris. "Anders and his assistants will look after you. I promise that you can trust them."

Fenris nodded. "Thank you," he said stiffly.

Sebastian smiled, and touched his fingertips to his shoulder for a moment. "No. Thank _you_ , for saving my life."

Fenris shrugged, and lay back his head, closing his eyes, listened to the pair move off, already feeling himself sliding toward sleep.

He wondered how it was that the mage was in Starkhaven, and alive. He suspected that Sebastian's explanation would include more references to foolish concepts such as 'fate', and found himself looking forward to arguing with him about it.


	29. A Subtle Torture

Anders rubbed tiredly at his face with one hand as he walked back to the main room of the clinic, Ashes hanging out of his other hand and purring while grooming his fingertips.

"You should rest, too," Sebastian said quietly.

"I know. I need to talk to Dugall and Sister Maura about Fenris first," he said. "Explain the whole not-touching thing and so forth."

Sebastian grunted in understanding, then waved to the pair in passing as he headed out of the clinic and back to the castle.

Anders looked around, then walked over and sat down heavily on a bench as far from the hallway entrance as he could, and beckoned Dugall and Sister Maura over.

"Some warnings about the elf," he said quietly. "He... reacts poorly, to being surprised, and especially to being touched. His reflexes are both fast and potentially lethal. When he refers to pulling someone's heart out of their chest, he's not joking. I've seen him do it – though at least it was justified in every case I saw. He doesn't need a weapon to be deadly; he pretty much _is_ a weapon. Don't tell him I said that or he'll want to tear my heart out, he hates it. And me, since I'm a mage, and it was a mage who did that to him. Anyway. He also hates being talked about behind his back. And hates being stared at. And hates people acting scared of him and _avoiding_ looking at him. Take it as a given, pretty much anything you say or do or don't do, he hates. Or at least dislikes intensely. Except drinking wine, killing things, and talking with Sebastian, those he likes, though I've never been entirely certain if he actually likes Sebastian, or just dislikes him least of everyone he's met."

Dugall snorted softly. "Sounds like some of the men I knew in the army. Real bastards, some of them - you wanted to kill them most of the time, until the fighting started, and then you wanted to be their new best friend."

Anders gave a slight smile. "About like that, yes. He's about the most phenomenally skilled warrior I've ever seen in my life, and that includes several infamous Grey Warden warriors, which says something. I said he doesn't need a weapon to be deadly... well, put a sword in his hands, especially one of the big two-handers he favours, and he's damn near an unstoppable force. Sebastian and I both owe him our lives several times over, from our years back in Kirkwall. Thankfully the reverse is also true, or my entrails would probably have been decorating the floor about five seconds after he saw me. He really, _really_ hates mages."

"Anyway, don't underestimate him, he may look weak and helpless, but he's anything but. Make noise when approaching his room, make sure he's awake and ask permission _before_ entering, never touch him without asking permission first, and if you _have_ to touch him – which I suppose you likely will Dugall, he'll need assistance until his feet are healed enough to walk – try not to touch the lines."

"Do they hurt him?" Sister Maura asked, frowning.

Anders nodded. "More often than not, yes. And they react... serendipitously, to the presence of magic. I think the closest he ever came to really killing me was when I had to heal some cracked ribs so he could carry on fighting, and it made him feel ticklish. Bone mends _slowly_ even with magic. It took me a while. His control was rather... frayed, by the end."

"Anyway, enough cheerful madman-elf stories, I'm about falling on my face again after dealing with his feet. I'm going home and getting some real sleep. I'll be by first thing tomorrow morning to check on him."

Dugall and Sister Maura nodded and bid him farewell, then set about cleaning up the mess remaining from Fenris' treatment.

* * *

Sebastian ran his hand through his hair. "And that's all you've been able to learn from them?" he asked Guard-Captain Cerin.

Cerin nodded. "Aye. They haven't wanted to be particularly talkative yet. Give it a another day or two, then they may decide to talk. What should we do about the men who were there, but don't appear to have been part of the plot?"

"They've all been interviewed?"

"Aye, and statements written down. I've been able to verify the identities of most of them, by asking among the other refugees."

"All right. Release them, but let them know I may wish to speak to them in a few days time, once things have calmed down again."

Cerin nodded and left. Sebastian leaned back tiredly in his chair and sighed. He'd not been to bed until quite late the night before, and then woken early this morning, still rattled by the events of the day before, and how narrowly he'd escaped death. Despite his initial elation, and his words to Anders and Fenris, his belief that there was some fate that had brought them together again, he was still badly unsettled at just how narrow an escape he'd had.

It was not helped by the knowledge that there was someone out there who wanted him dead; someone had talked these men into staging this attack on him, convinced them that he was deserving of death. Cerin hadn't been able to pry enough out of them yet for them to be certain who it was, but Sebastian had a nasty suspicion that he could guess who it had been. A templar whose life he might have been better off not sparing, despite the man's high standing as a seeker, one of those trusted by the Divine to work her will within the world, to be her eyes and ears and, at need, her hands.

And if it was Seeker Reynard behind this attack against him, was the Divine aware of it? Had it been done with her approval? There was no way to know, and he feared the answer either way; either the Divine had lost control of one of her most trusted servants, or she was countenancing actions that were well outside what was supposed to be the scope of her powers. An attack on a secular ruler by religious authorities could not fail to have far-reaching implications. Church and state were supposed to be separate, the secular and religious leaders working in amicable harmony to protect their peoples, not at odds.

Oh, there'd been occasional abuses of religious power in the past; witness how one past Grand Cleric of Ferelden had made no secret of her support of the Orlesian invasion of her country, welcoming the invaders with open arms. She'd done her best to convince her countrymen that it was _religiously correct_ for them to submit, coming up with apologist reasoning for why the subjugation of Ferelden was Orlesian destiny, the Maker's will made manifest. He thought the aberration was likely caused in part because the chantry, based in Orlais as it was, had never forgotten that it was their smaller, more backwards neighbour that had produced Andraste, Makerath, and the army that had overthrown the Tevinter Imperium, founding the Andrastrian movement. Her remains were even said to lie within Ferelden's borders – a story which Anders, he recalled, had claimed was indeed true.

Still, at this point there was no real evidence that it was the seeker behind the attack, just a suspicion. He frowned in thought for a while longer, then decided to go to the clinic and speak with Fenris. The elf, he knew, would be pleased to see him, and it would certainly please _him_ to talk with him again. One of his few fond memories of his years in Kirkwall were the evenings he and the elf had often spent in each other's company in Fenris' quarters. Fenris would have a bottle – or two – of wine on hand, and would lounge back in his chair, swilling it like water, while Sebastian sipped infrequently at a goblet of well-watered wine, and they'd talk, for hours on end, about any subject that caught their interest.

He remembered how surprised he'd been, the first time he'd quoted a Rivaini philosopher in passing, only to have Fenris respond with a well-reasoned dispute of the man's words. The elf might not remember his past, nor have been able to read or write at all until quite recently, but he was sharply intelligent and had a very good memory. He'd spent years guarding his master, Danarius, in the halls and salons of the Tevinter Imperium. He'd overheard – and remembered, and thought deeply and above-all _intelligently_ about – more readings and debates about philosophy, the nature of magic, religion, morality, ethics, and so forth – than any other man Sebastian had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

The two of them only sometimes agreed, but their talks had always been both enjoyable and fascinating. He deeply respected the elf, not just for his martial skills, but for the sharpness of his wit, the conviction of his beliefs, and his unbending refusal to be subjugated by anyone ever again. He supposed few would understand their friendship; it was in many ways a meeting of opposites, this unlikely fellowship between an ex-playboy prince/priest and an abused and irreligious escaped slave. Yet it was a relationship he had treasured, and a friendship he had missed, and he was gladdened at the opportunity to resume it.

Dugall looked rather relieved to see him, he noted as he walked in the door. Fenris must have been being his usual charming self. "How's your patient doing?" he asked the man.

Dugall rolled his eyes. "Healing well, and in fine fettle, according to Anders."

"And awake, and listening," Fenris' voice called from down the hallway, sounding irritated.

Sebastian grinned, nodded at Dugall, and walked down the hallway to lean in the door of the room where he'd left Fenris the day before.

The elf was sitting up against the wall at one end of his cot, looking grumpy, his hair falling down over his eyes and arms crossed over his chest, glaring at him. "Took you long enough to come visit," he snarled.

"Yes, well, unfortunately I have a country to run, and there was the little matter of an assassination attempt to investigate. We're still not sure who was behind it, though I have my suspicions," Sebastian said, walking in and sitting down on the opposite end of the cot.

"Oh?" Fenris asked, sitting up straighter and looking interested.

Sebastian frowned for a moment. Talking about his suspicions where they might be overheard – especially by someone in the chantry – was probably not a good idea. "A story for another time," he said lightly. "It's lengthy."

Fenris grunted, and settled back more comfortably against the wall. The man was like a cat, Sebastian sometimes thought, able to sprawl out in positions that should have been uncomfortable, and yet somehow looking relaxed and at his ease. He hid a slight smile, doubting his friend would appreciate the comparison.

"How are your feet feeling today?" he asked.

Fenris wrinkled his nose. "Itchy. The apostate tells me that is a sign that they are healing properly, that I didn't do permanent damage to the nerves in them. And then told me not to rub or scratch at them. I wondered for a while today if it was a subtle torture he wished to inflict on me."

"You just wish it was," a voice said, and they looked up to find Anders leaning in the doorway, kitten in hand. "Hello, Sebastian. I just dropped in to check on my favourite patient and make sure he hadn't killed my assistants. They're hard to replace, you know," he directed the final comment toward Fenris.

Fenris glared at him. "You've checked on me, now go away," he spat.

"Ah, ah! Not quite yet. I have something for you first," he said, and produced a small ceramic jar. "You can thank Sister Maura for this later. It's a salve she compounded, it should help with the itching," he explained, then tossed the jar at Fenris. Fenris easily snatched it out of the air, his glare lessening not at all.

Anders looked at Sebastian. "If you can keep him off his feet, he can leave the clinic any time – there's nothing more we can do for him now that time, food and rest won't accomplish as easily elsewhere."

Sebastian nodded. "All right. Thank you, Anders."

Anders grinned crookedly. "Least I could do. You know where to find me if the elf needs further care," he added, then turned and left.

Fenris frowned as he folded his legs, pulling open the jar and sniffing it before taking some on his fingertips and beginning to smooth it into the soft pink skin that covered the soles of his feet. "You have not yet explained to me why the mage is here, and alive," he pointed out. "When you departed Kirkwall, you seemed quite determined on his death."

Sebastian grimaced. "Another long story. Let me go see about arranging a litter for you, then once you've been moved into rooms in the keep we can sit down and have a good long talk."

Fenris nodded. "All right," he agreed guardedly, then sighed. "Remind me to thank the woman on the way out. Her salve works well."


	30. Discussions

Fenris frowned around the room. He wasn't sure if he liked it; it was both larger and finer than he'd expected, and he found it... unsettling. He shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed, then turned to look at Sebastian, sitting at his ease in a chair nearby. "The mage," he said.

Sebastian nodded, and launched into his story – his own arrival in Starkhaven, reclaiming his throne, finding the letter from Elthina waiting for him, Anders' later arrival and surrender, his claim that the spirit was gone, and events since. It was late afternoon by the time he'd finished, Fenris listening attentively the entire time, sometimes making a sound or asking a question, but mainly just listening. He frowned thoughtfully when Sebastian was done.

"All right. I understand why you spared him, then, even if I'm not sure I agree with your reasoning. Just because he is apparently no longer an abomination doesn't mean he was not responsible for the actions he took when he _was_ an abomination," he pointed out.

Sebastian nodded. "I know. Yet I am unsure of how much blame accrues to him, and how much to the spirit. I do not think I can claim he was actually _innocent_ of what he did in Kirkwall, but I do believe..." he hesitated, and frowned in thought for a moment, seeking to formulate things that so far he'd mainly _felt_ , not had to logically express. "I think that what he did or was forced to do in Kirkwall went against his essential nature. He is a _healer_ ; we both saw in Kirkwall how diligently he laboured to help the sick and dying. Not because it gained him money, or prestige, or power, or even a comfortable life, but because it was work that needed doing, and he could do it. Because it was _right_."

Fenris grudgingly nodded, admitting the point. It did not make him care any more for the man, but he agreed that Anders could easily have made a much more comfortable life for himself, in Kirkwall or somewhere friendlier to apostates. That he had remained in the bowels of Kirkwall, ministering to the poorest of the poor for so many years... he was willing to allow that perhaps it did say something about the man's nature.

"He is... a very changed man, now, from what he was those final years in Kirkwall. From what I can ever remember him being," Sebastian continued, and looked away, frowning at a wall as he thought. "I believe that with Justice gone, I am perhaps getting a glimpse of Anders as he used to be, before merging with the spirit warped him. I tend to believe now that he may have been almost as much a victim of the events in Kirkwall as he was an instigator of them. For what wrong does it to do a healer, when they become great killers instead?"

He looked at Fenris again."I know you and he are un-friends. But I would appreciate it if, once you are enough recovered to be on your feet, you spend some time with him, observing him. I can provide a believable excuse for such observation. I would like someone else's opinion on the changes I believe I have seen in him. And I trust your judgement."

Fenris arched an ebon eyebrow. "Even though we so rarely agree?"

Sebastian smiled widely. " _Because_ we so rarely agree. I am certain you will not sweeten your words to me in your own evaluation of the mage. Rather the opposite, if anything, given your great dislike of mages."

"Not merely _dislike_. Hatred. Distrust. Loathing. All are better words."

Sebastian nodded. "Yet you trust Anders enough to allow him to heal you."

"Only because you were there. The mage I do not trust at all. I trusted _you_ to see that he did nothing worse than heal. What excuse will I be given to spend time with the mage after my healing?"

Sebastian grinned, knowing that with the question Fenris had halfway given in to his persuasion. "One that is not entirely an excuse. I am faced with the problem of what to do with mages within Starkhaven, both apostates that are already here or may arrive in future, and the rescued mages of the Ansburg circle, who along with their templar escorts should arrive here within days at most. The system of confining mages within circles is breaking down, in the wake of events in Kirkwall and elsewhere. Too, it renders them both too tempting a target for anti-mage resentments, and gives them too large a power base of compatriots if they choose to rebel. I will not countenance slaying all mages out of hand because of the sins of the few. Nor will I see the excesses of the Tevinter mages become the everyday here in Starkhaven. Some other way must be found, that allows man and mage to live together peacefully. I have tasked Anders, among others, with considering the problem. I would like you to join in as well; your experience under the magisters and knowledge of their society could prove an invaluable resource for us in our deliberations."

Fenris scowled and snorted disdainfully. "You dream, Sebastian. Mages will ever seek power."

"Yet we are agreed that there are mages, such as Anders, who will pass by power to do good instead. And as I recall you also thought quite highly of Hawke's sister, Bethany."

Fenris frowned. "She was... not unlikable. For a mage." he said grudgingly.

Sebastian laughed. "High words of praise, from your lips! No, Fenris, I know my hopes, my dreams, for a peaceful future may not come to pass. But if no one tries to bring it about, it will _certainly_ not happen. Anders has already come to realize that his past idolization of the Tevinter magisters is... foolish, and baseless. It would do him good, to hear from your own lips what you can tell him of life in Tevinter. He has become willing to put aside his preconceived notions and learn the truth. Can you not help him to it?"

Fenris sighed deeply, and pressed his lips together, then slowly nodded. "All right. I agree to talk with the mage. And observe him, and report to you on what my opinion is. Just do not expect me to like him, or to coddle him."

Sebastian grinned. "Perish the thought."

Fenris turned over on his side, propping up his head on one hand. "There is something else I can likely help you with," he said slowly, hesitantly.

"What would that be?" Sebastian asked interestedly.

"You spoke of how after the attempt by the seeker and his men that you and your Guard-Captain realized there were... problems, with how the defences of the castle are organized. As Danarius' bodyguard, I often had oversight of his guards, at least when we were away from his personal estates. It was necessary that I be intimately familiar with what their patrol patterns should be, and the reasoning behind same, so that I could assign them duties when we were staying in other accommodations. Also so I could be aware of when they were not where they should be, when they should be, as that might signal either treachery on their part or an intrusion. If your captain is open to learning from an elf, I can likely teach him much, as well as evaluating your current defences and identifying their weaknesses."

Sebastian grinned. "I believe at this point Captain Cerin would take instruction from the archdemon itself, if only he was certain its teachings would be trustworthy. I will speak to him, and let him know that you are a resource he may call upon. And now, it grows late – what say I summon dinner for the both of us, and some good wine as well, and we can spend the evening catching up with each other in more detail."

Fenris smiled. "I think I would enjoy that," he said agreeably.


	31. Grudging Agreement

Anders slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his forehead on them, then just shook for a moment. Whining and a cold nose poking into his ear won a short, strained laugh from him, and he lifted his head, then raised one hand to soothingly touch the dog's neck. "I'm okay, Ganwyn," he said hoarsely. "I'm just really, really tired."

The dog whined and wiggled its head in between his chest and legs, tail lashing excitedly. He snorted, and lowered his legs. Ganwyn promptly squirmed around, getting as much of his body and forequarters into Anders' lap as he could, long legs and tail trailing off to the side and chin resting on Anders' stomach, gazing soulfully up at him out of warm brown eyes. Anders managed a faint smile, and ruffled the dog's ears. "You are such a suck sometimes," he said fondly to the dog, winning another thump of its tail against the floor.

He leaned his head tiredly back against the wall. He'd woken up this morning to knocking on the door and word from the guard that another ship full of refugees had arrived just before dawn, with injured among them, and he was needed at the clinic as quickly as he could get there. He'd grabbed a wedge of cheese, an apple and Ashes, and hurried off.

Many of the injured had been people burnt while fleeing the flames, others had been wounded in the fighting that had broken out as panicking people had fought for spaces on the few riverboats available. After days packed in like sardines in the holds of the riverboat as it made its way upriver, with poor if any care from the healthier passengers, many of the injured had already had wounds turning septic. Or worse – he overheard one of the townsfolk who'd helped carry a litter up to the clinic telling one of the guards that they'd pulled quite a few dead out of the holds as well, people who hadn't survived the journey.

And so he'd moved frantically from cot to cot, doing what he could for each person in turn. The chantry had sent an additional pair of trained healers over to assist, to clean and lance, poultice and bandage – mundane healing only, as they were priests, not mages, but they needed every pair of trained hands they could get, right then. He'd used his powers as sparingly as he could, saving lives that would have been lost with only traditional healing to help, leaving what could be healed naturally to the others. Sister Maura following him around and giving him lyrium potions whenever he flagged. He'd ordered her to not let him have more than eight in a day, and by shortly after noon she'd had to shake her head at him, refusing him any further. He'd felt devastated, wanting to argue with her – but he knew even eight was already pushing it, that five should have been the maximum he'd told her.

He'd left then, not wanting to be there when people started dying because he didn't have enough power to save them, and too tired to be of more mundane assistance. His head was buzzing with exhaustion and the after-effects of so many lyrium potions taken in such quick succession. When one of his guards took his arm and helped support him on the walk back to the cottage, he'd numbly accepted the help.

He sighed, blinking his eyes as he felt tears stinging at them. He should go to bed and try to sleep, he knew. Though he should eat first; his body was dangerously depleted after so many potions. But he was so damned tired... he ruffled Ganwyn's ears again, his other hand dropped down to cup over Ashes, the kitten having curled up on the floor beside his hip.

Haelioni, who'd been watching him from where she was lying stretched out near the unlit fireplace, suddenly heaved to her feet and turned to look at the bedroom door, ears pricking upright and head turned to the side. Ganwyn scrambled up out of his lap, turning to look the same way, then whined.

"Anders?" a familiar voice called.

"Out here, Sebastian," he called. The bedroom door open, and Sebastian came into the main room, frowning as he took in the sight of the healer sitting on the floor. Fenris followed close behind him, looking around uneasily. Anders tensed, then forced a smile. A rather toothy one, he was sure. "Fenris."

"Mage."

Haelioni made a sound, and moved forward, stepping between Anders and the two, eyes locked on the elf. Ganwyn looked uncertainly between Sebastian and Fenris, then moved to flank Haelioni. Fenris froze, looking at the massive dog. She took a step toward him, hackles rising, a low hostile growl beginning.

"Down," Anders said sharply. Haelioni froze. "Sorry. My dogs seem to think you might have ill intent toward me," he said, smiling again at Fenris. "Lie down, girl. It's just Fenris. He's a grumpy bastard but I'm sure you'll get used to him eventually."

Haelioni glanced at Anders, then moved over and lay down on the floor beside him, staying between him and Fenris. Ganwyn slowly lay down again as well, head raised and watching the two men intently.

Sebastian smiled crookedly. "I should have remembered that the dogs might not appreciate meeting Fenris so... unexpectedly. I heard the clinic was pretty busy today. Rough morning?"

Anders nodded tiredly. "Yes. Have a seat, Fenris," he added, waving at the chairs near the two men. "You'll worry my dogs less if you aren't _looming_." he pointed out, then frowned. " _And_ you're not supposed to be up on your feet yet..."

Fenris snorted, and slowly moved to take a seat. "I am wearing foot protection," he said dryly, then glanced at Sebastian. "Someone threatened to have me tied down if I left my bed without taking proper thought for my feet before they were fully healed. I disliked the thought of having to injure any of his men who were foolish enough to attempt actually doing so, so I agreed."

Anders peered at the elf's feet, then grinned. "Sheepskin slippers? Clearly I overdid the lyrium potions and am hallucinating now."

Fenris glared at him. Sebastian grinned cheerfully as well for a moment, then frowned at Anders. "I think your joke is uncomfortably close to the truth. Just how many lyrium potions have you had today?" he asked suspiciously.

"Enough," Anders said evasively.

"Which means, too many," Fenris said dryly.

Sebastian nodded. "Right. You need food, and rest. And to get up off that cold floor. Come on, man, at least sit in a chair."

"Fine," Anders said, and started trying to push himself to his feet, only to find his legs didn't quite seem up to the task.

Sebastian hurried forward, shooing the dogs aside – they obeyed him, though not without uneasy looks at Fenris – and helped Anders to his feet and over to a chair. Anders being in no shape to get food for himself, and asking Fenris to serve the mage being right out of the question, he then went over to the kitchen area himself and poked around, finding bread, cheese, and fruit, and bringing it all over to the table. He cut bread and cheese and put some in Anders' hand, then began cutting up an apple into pieces. Anders grimaced, and ate with the air of one eating because he knew he needed to, not because he was currently finding any real pleasure in the act.

After a while he looked up, frowning at the two. He accepted a second handful of apple wedges from Sebastian, and leaned back in his chair. "So... why were the two of you coming down here to see me, anyway?" he asked warily.

Sebastian quickly outlined his idea of Fenris joining Anders in considering the problem of how to deal with mages. "And the two of you can talk with Dugall and Sister Maura about the issue as well; I'll let your guards know that you have permission to speak to the pair of them on wider subjects as long as Fenris is there as well. If a mage who has seen some of the worst of the chantry system, and a man who has likewise seen the worst of life under the magisters, cannot between them find some area of agreement on how man and mage might be able to live peacefully together, then I will believe that perhaps there _is_ no way it can be done."

Anders nodded tiredly. "I suppose it's at least worth a try. As long as Fenris promises not to pull my heart out of my chest the first time we have an argument."

"I will wait until at least the second time, mage," Fenris said dryly. "As long as you promise to refrain from unnecessary magic in my presence."

Anders gave him a crooked smile. "That might be hard if you accompany me to the clinic to speak with Dugall and Sister Maura. I do that healing thing there, remember."

Fenris snorted. "You know what I mean, mage."

"I suppose I do. All right, agreed. But not starting today, obviously – I'm too damned tired. And may well be the same tomorrow, if we see many more badly injured refugees turning up."

Sebastian nodded. "It can wait until things settle down. The Revered Mother and I have come up with at least a stop-gap measure for dealing with the mages incoming from Ansburg, and a more long-term solution will just have to wait."

"What are you going to do with them?" Anders asked, a little apprehensively.

"There's a holding of the Vael family, an old hill keep some miles to the south-east of the city, on a small tributary of the Minanter... only navigable by small boats. One of the places I'd been to see the day of the assassination attempt. It's fortified, and currently empty apart from a senile caretaker and a handful of guards. It's far enough away from the city itself and any smaller towns and villages that it will hopefully be out of sight, out of mind, as far as the more anti-mage factions are concerned. And if trouble does spring up, it's isolated enough and defensible enough that the templars should be able to protect their charges quite easily, without any clash of arms spreading into a wider disturbance, as it did in Ansburg. It needs a good cleaning, but the mages and templars can undertake that themselves; it will give them something to do. I've already started sending necessary supplies there – cots, blankets, food, and so on – and the chantry has committed to help support the establishment as well, since it is their templars that will be living there."

Anders nodded slowly. "That... sounds like a good choice," he agreed hesitantly, then sighed and rubbed tiredly at his face. "Sorry. I need sleep."

Sebastian nodded. "Need a hand getting to your bed?" he asked.

Anders snorted, and gave him a crooked smile. "Probably," he said, then frowned, looking around. "Where's Ashes...?"

"The kitten is under your chair," Fenris pointed out.

Anders leaned over and looked down. "So he is," he agreed, and reached down to pick up the kitten, cradling it against his chest as he rose unsteadily to his feet. The two dogs quickly scrambled to their feet as well, watching him expectantly, Ganwyn glancing anxiously at Fenris as he rose to his feet as well.

"You'd probably better go through first," Sebastian told Fenris, as he moved to Anders' side and took him by the arm. "The dogs will get used to you eventually, but I don't think they're quite ready to believe you're a friend yet."

Anders and Fenris gave near-identical snorts at that. Fenris retreated through the bedroom and stood by the closet, waiting while Sebastian helped Anders into the room and saw him settled on the bed before stepping back to join the elf.

"I'll see the servant knows to wake you to eat when he brings your dinner," he told Anders.

Anders nodded, eyes already closing. Ganwyn jumped on on the bed and settled beside him, head resting on his stomach, watching Fenris until the two men had turned and left through the hidden passageway, closet and hidden doors both closing behind them. Haelioni stretched out along the wall between bedroom door and closet as she normally did, only this time with her head at the closet end of the wall, where she could keep a wary eye on it.


	32. Acceptance

Fenris frowned down at his feet, wiggling his long toes thoughtfully, then slid off the side of the high bed and rose at stand on the hard stone floor. The soles were still tender, but not actually painful any more; well enough healed, he judged, though doubtless the mage would disagree. He curled his lip at the sheepskin slippers discarded on the floor by the bed, and walked over to the armour stand, reaching out to lightly touch fingertips to the armour hanging there. Not his usual set; that set, after his lengthy and adventurous journey up the Minanter to Starkhaven, was badly in need of proper repair. Sebastian had obtained some elf-sized leather amour to temporarily replace it, and insisted on sending Fenris' original set off to a master craftsman in the city to see what could be done to salvage it.

He was not looking forward to dressing in strange armour. Still, it was better than the alternative – no armour at all. Still, he decided to put off the moment a while longer, walking through into the bathing chamber off of his room to wash himself first. He cleaned himself quickly and efficiently, wiping himself down with a cloth dipped in cold water, snorting at the sweetly scented soap on the ledge by the capacious bathtub. Danarius' bathing chamber had been even more luxurious than this, he remembered. A foolish waste of space, he judged it.

Satisfied with his cleanliness, he returned to the bedroom, scowled briefly at the set of armour, then began dressing, taking his time and carefully adjusting each strap until he was satisfied with the fit of the set. He slowly ran through some exercises, readjusting some straps when he found the armour binding or catching in unpleasant ways, until he felt at ease moving in it. It did not fit him as well as he liked, but for now it was adequate.

He exited his room, and went along the corridor and up the stairs that brought him to the floor where Sebastian's apartment was. The guards at the door were used to him by now – he'd dined with the prince every meal since his arrival in the keep itself, apart from when the prince was combining dining with meetings. They merely nodded, and opened the door to let him into Sebastian's sitting room.

Sebastian was already at table, and smiled and nodded his head at the sight of Fenris. Fenris moved to fill a plate for himself, then sat down as well, eating neatly and efficiently.

"We need to do something about getting a proper weapon for you," Sebastian said. "I had the castle armoury checked, unfortunately the Vael guards are usually only trained with daggers, long-swords, and bows, so we don't seem to have any two-handed weapons lying around. There is, however, a dwarven weaponsmith in Starkhaven with quite a good reputation, and I have a couple of hours free before my first meeting of the day. I was thinking we could go and see if he has anything suitable in stock."

Fenris frowned. "I do not like accepting so much of your charity..."

Sebastian waved a hand dismissively. "It is not charity! You saved my life, Fenris. I set quite a high value on that. And you will begin helping Cerin soon, I believe – if nothing else, consider it payment for your work with the man."

Fenris frowned in thought, before reluctantly nodding. "All right. As payment, then."

Sebastian smiled. "Good. Then as soon as we have finished eating, let us go. It just doesn't seem right to see you walking around without a proper weapon. That toothpick of a sword you're currently using doesn't count," he added, nodding to the longsword Fenris currently had strapped on – one of his first actions after moving the elf to the keep had been to have word passed to the guards that Fenris had permission to bear arms in his presence, and he'd had the sword the elf had been using the day he'd so precipitously appeared brought to his room for him.

Fenris gave him a faint smile. "It doesn't _feel_ right, either. I am... unbalanced, with such a small and light weapon."

They quickly finished their meal and headed down to the city together, a group of guardsmen falling in as escort as they left. The shop was not any great distance away, being in a market area just outside of the noble quarter, where a number of high-end craftsmasters had their establishments. Their arrival at the store saw the proprietor himself hurrying forward to serve them. To Fenris' pleased surprise, the man had several suitable weapons, most fashioned of metal and rather more ornately decorated than he liked.

After he'd rejected three blades and two mauls, the weaponsmith nodded thoughtfully. "You prefer something made for real work, not show," he said decisively.

"Yes. And while metal is acceptable, ironwood or dragonbone would be preferable."

The smith frowned. "For the difference in weight and manoeuvrability, I assume? Yes. Well, I have no ironwood, but I may have a dragonbone blade that would suffice," he said, and barked at his apprentices to go fetch it.

Fenris smiled as soon as he saw the blade, even before he removed it from its scabbard. Almost as long as he was tall, with only minimal ornamentation on the hilt. The blade was wide – wider than his outstretched hand – and thick at the base, but narrowed rapidly and thinned significantly before the point. He shifted his grip on it a couple of times, quickly finding a good balance point with it. "May I try it?" he asked the smith.

The shop had a small yard in back; not big enough to give the blade a real work-out, but the smith had a practise dummy out there and Fenris tried a few simple stances and passes with the blade, nodding in approval when he was done. "It suits," he said to the dwarf.

A great deal of gold from Sebastian later and they left the shop, Fenris feeling much happier now that he had a proper weapon again. Though the difference in weight was enough to make him aware that his feet had yet to build up callus again, and he'd best not do too much walking around just yet.

They returned to the castle, where they parted, Sebastian heading off for his meeting. Fenris hesitated, not sure just what to do with free time, and then decided to go to the clinic; hopefully Anders would be there, and if not he could at least properly introduce himself to the mage's assistants, since they would be spending some amount of time together in future.

He arrived to find guards at the door. They eyed his sword warily, but allowed him entry. Inside, he quickly spotted Anders, the man standing at the examining table, treating an ugly wound on a young woman's face; another of the refugees from Ansburg, Fenris assumed. He started to lean against the wall, then remembered his feet and found a place to sit on the end of one bench, in the corner of the room, removing the sword and leaning it in the corner beside him.

He lounged back, arms crossed across his chest and legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle, watching quietly as Anders finished treating the woman's face – the ugly wound reduced to a near-invisible line before he was satisfied – then set a broken arm, and treated burns on someone's back.

"That's all for today," Dugall said to Anders as Sister Maura led the burn patient off to her dispensary.

Anders nodded and looked around, freezing for a moment as he spotted Fenris. He frowned, then slowly walked over. "Fenris," he said, giving him a very slight nod of greeting.

Fenris straightened up. "Mage."

Anders looked around distractedly for a moment then sat down. "So how are we going to do this talking thing? And where? Here?"

Fenris shrugged. "Up to you, I suppose. We can either talk here, or at your cottage, or Sebastian has said we may use the castle library."

Anders frowned and tugged on the cuffs of his shirt. "My cottage, I guess," he said. He rose to his feet again, and looked around, before moving to fetch his cat from where it was stretched out on a bench near the examining table. Fenris rose as well, slipping his sword back into place. Anders paused and looked it over for a moment before turning to lead the way out of the clinic. "New sword?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes. Sebastian bought it for me this morning."

"Generous of him," Anders observed as he headed across the yard and into the arched entryway leading out to the castle grounds, his guards falling in behind the pair.

"Payment for services," Fenris said shortly, frowning at the mage. The remainder of their walk to Anders' cottage was silent, apart from the purring of the cat.

Their entry to the garden was not as quiet, however; Anders' dogs were out, and the smaller of the two started barking as soon as he saw Fenris. The larger dog looked attentively at them, then snapped at the smaller. It flinched away and quieted, then sat down, watching Fenris attentively, shifting position nervously. The big dog began to stalk in their direction, legs stiff, head and tail lowered.

"This is getting old fast, mage," Fenris gritted out, watching the massive brindle-coated dog moving their way and considering whether or not to draw his sword.

"Yes, well, blame Sebastian, he's the one that saddled me with them," Anders said, then stepped between Fenris and the dogs. "It's okay, girl," he said. "He's a friend, I promise."

Fenris snorted softly.

"Or at least he's promised not to kill me unless it's justified. Come on, Haelioni... come here, girl," he called softly, crouching down and holding out one hand.

The dog stopped and looked warily at Fenris, then slowly moved over to Anders, sniffing curiously at his hand, then licking it once before turning her head to look at Fenris again. She stared at him for a long moment, then abruptly blew out air through her nose and sat down on the ground, the threat going out of her posture.

"Gooood girl, that's right, no need to worry about the scary elf," Anders crooned.

Fenris scowled at Anders. "I am not 'scary'."

Anders gave a short laugh, and rose to his feet. "Not to yourself, maybe, but you frighten the hell out of almost everyone else. Including me. I've seen you fight, remember. Anyway, it's cold out, let's get inside."

Fenris nodded, and followed the mage over to his cottage. The two dogs rose and followed, watchful but silent.

"Sit anywhere you like," Anders said once they were indoors, waving his hand unconcernedly. Fenris walked over and down sat in the same chair he'd taken when Sebastian and he had come here a couple of days before. Anders set his cat down on the table, then walked off to the kitchen end of the room, putting on water for tea and starting to take out food. "Have you eaten lunch yet?" he asked.

"No," Fenris admitted, reluctantly, watching the cat settling down in the middle of the table, stretched out and grooming its side.

Anders nodded, and brought over food for the two of them in several trips – bread and cheese, cold ham, pickles, some apples and nuts. He made tea, and brought that and a jar of honey as well, before finally sitting down.

Fenris had forgotten how much the man could eat. He watched as Anders quickly ate enough food for at least two men, nibbling on his own much smaller share of the food. The big dog – Haelioni, he recalled – had stretched out on the floor nearby, head raised to watch the two of them attentively. The smaller dog had moved to sit by Anders' left elbow, watching his plate hopefully.

Its patience was eventually rewarded; once Anders had finished eating he fed some leftovers to the dog. The female rose and walked over to the table, glancing once at Fenris before turning her attention to Anders, who fed some to her as well, the huge dog nipping the bits of bread, cheese and ham from his fingers with surprising delicacy. He ruffled her neck fur and ears when he was done, and patted the smaller dog on the back, before rising to his feet. "We should talk upstairs," Anders said, reclaiming his cat from the middle of the table. "It's more comfortable up there. And I have things for taking notes, plus some books about Tevinter the Revered Mother has loaned me."

Fenris nodded in agreement, and followed him up the stairs to the attic room, the dogs trailing along behind. Anders sat down at the desk, and after a brief hesitation Fenris chose one of the comfortably overstuffed chairs, leaning his sword against the arm. Haelioni stretched out on the carpet between the two of them, lowering her head to her forepaws and closing her eyes. Ganwyn jumped up on one of the chairs – one that, judging by the thick coating of hairs on the cushioned seat, back, and arms he made a regular habit of using – and curled up, chin hanging off the front of the seat. Ashes jumped down off of the desk, walked over and jumped up to join him, grooming the side of the dog's face for a moment before making himself comfortable among the dog's legs.

Anders, meanwhile, had been getting parchment, pens and ink out his desk, spreading them out ready for use. He frowned down at them when he'd done. "I don't even know where to start," he confessed.

Fenris snorted softly. "You mentioned you have been reading some books about Tevinter? Why don't you tell me what you've learned from what was said in them; I know you used to have rather foolish notions about what a mage-run society was actually like."

Anders flushed just slightly, but didn't challenge Fenris' statement. Interesting. Maybe he really was open to hearing some ugly truths about the magisters. Fenris settled back, making himself comfortable, as Anders hesitantly began to speak.


	33. Revelations

Sebastian smiled in welcome as Fenris walked into the room, sitting down at the table and beginning to serve himself supper from the dishes in the middle. "Guard-Captain Cerin was in to see me this afternoon. He seems very pleased with what he's been learning under your tutelage over the last week," he remarked.

Fenris gave a short nod. "He is a fast learner," he said. "Barring that he lacked some of the proper training beforehand, he seems a good choice for your Guard-Caption. I take it he was not here only to report on my assistance?"

"No, that was entirely a side-issue," Sebastian agreed. "Some of the assailants from the day you arrived have finally begun to talk Unfortunately it looks like my guess about who targeted them at me was incorrect; the man they described is not the seeker. So it's anyone's guess now as to who did it, and why," Sebastian said, looking frustrated. "Even whether or not it truly had anything to do with Anders' presence here is now uncertain – naming me a 'mage-lover' may have merely been a way to use these men's pre-existing hatred of mages, to persuade them against me."

Fenris nodded. "That reminds me. Something I need to ask you about, about the mage..."

Sebastian looked up. "Oh? What is it? I hope things are going well in your talks?"

"Well enough," Fenris said with a shrug, and his lips twisted in a very slight smile. "We are still refraining from harming each other, anyway. I have been... pleasantly surprised, by how open he is to what I can tell him about life under the magisters. I believe you are right that he is very changed since Kirkwall," he said, and frowned darkly. "Tell me... you've mentioned times when he had problems of some kind. When you'd jailed him, and later, when the templars almost succeeded in abducting him. Describe his reactions to these events in more detail, please."

Sebastian frowned and sat back in his chair. "Why...? No, you would not be asking merely out of idle curiosity, would you. Something about the incidents has you honestly worried. All right, let me think... the first time..."

He quickly described the two occasions he'd seen Anders break down. Fenris proved the most interested in the second, Anders' collapse and withdrawal after the near-kidnapping. By the time Sebastian finished, he was on his feet, pacing uneasily about the room, picking up and putting down things and looking... almost upset.

"What is it?" Sebastian asked, concerned. "Clearly you feared something, and my words are only serving to confirm whatever it is."

Fenris sat down again abruptly. He picked up a leftover crust of bread from the side of his plate, and starting tearing bits off it, rolling them into balls and dropping them on the plate, forehead furrowed in thought. Sebastian raised an eyebrow. He hadn't seen the elf so agitated since back in Kirkwall, when they were preparing to go meet his sister at the Hanged Man, worried – near certain, and subsequently proven correct – that it was a trap.

"You're worrying me, Fenris," he said softly.

Fenris blew out air and dropped the crust back to the plate, pushing it away, then crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "You have mentioned before how he seemed... fragile, since surrendering to you. I fear he is far worse than just 'fragile'. He is very badly broken."

Sebastian looked at him in surprise. "Broken? But he seems normal enough since he recovered... he looks after himself, he does his work, he is cheerful..."

"Around you, yes," Fenris agreed, and frowned again. "You have noted, I am sure, how unnaturally attached he is to his cat."

"Ashes? Yes, but he's always liked cats... and I know he had one years ago that circumstances forced him to give up. He is worried that he will be likewise separated from Ashes, I suppose..."

Fenris shook his head. "No, it is more than that. Ashes has become a touchstone for him, a good luck object, a... security blanket. He finds it reassuring to be in contact with or handle the cat, touches it frequently, becomes worried if it is out of his sight. He would likely panic and suffer another breakdown of some kind if he lost it for more than a very short period of time. But the cat is not the only such touchstone he has. To a much lesser extent his cottage and dogs serve a similar purpose for him – he feels safe there, to some degree, since it is an environment he has some control over and where he is guarded. But he knows that the safety of the cottage has already been compromised once in the past, so it alone does not make him feel particularly secure."

Fenris frowned again. "He has one other security blanket, something that _does_ make him feel secure. You," he said, and looked up at Sebastian.

"Me!" Sebastian asked, shocked. "Why me..."

"Because when he expected you to kill him, you let him live. You have shown kindness to him when he expected only cruelty. You have given him a place of safety, and protected him from those who meant him harm. You have taken care of him when he was weakened – _personal_ care, when you could as easily have left him to guards and servants. More, for most of his time here, you have been the only person he could truly speak with, in a time when he has likely felt most terribly alone after loosing both Hawke and his so-called 'spirit', and his old life in Kirkwall. At a time when he doubts his own mind and past decisions, fears and regrets his part in the carnage he worked in Kirkwall, I believe he _trusts_ you to see to it that he does not cause such harm to others again."

Fenris sighed, looking unhappy. "He has become fixated on you, much like he is on the cat. He feels safest and is most at his ease when you are near. When he has not seen you for some time, he begins to become morose and withdrawn – Dugall and Sister Maura can confirm that, if you need, they have seen his mood change this way as well. He only cheers up again when you finally reappear. He is jealous of me and the time he knows I spend with you daily – likely sees me as a rival for your attention. Not consciously, I believe, but I have seen it in his actions. He jokes and acts almost manic when we are both around, trying to win your attention away from me, to gain your approval. I believe he is, as you thought, fragile; very fragile indeed. I think were you to become displeased with him or show anger to him, he would take it to heart much more severely than you would expect. More, he will interpret even little things like you being too busy to see him for some days as a worrisome sign, a sign that he has done something that has displeased you.."

Sebastian frowned. "This... does not sound like something that is healthy for him."

"No, it is not," Fenris agreed softly. "I have seen this sort of behaviour a few times before in my life, among slaves who had been... very badly broken by their masters. Most of those ended badly... you can imagine, I am sure, what delight a sadistic master would take in finding that one of their toys had such an obvious weakness to exploit in order to break them even further," he said grimly. "Or what uses can be made by so fixating a slave on the master themselves, so they live for the approval and pleasure of the very person who is abusing them. Thralls are often purposefully broken in just such a way, though in their case it is caused by the use of specific spells, not... incidental damage."

Sebastian shivered. "I would not do such to Anders, no matter how much I once hated him," he said softly. "I would not torment him."

Fenris nodded. "Perhaps not intentionally... but something as simple as travelling away for some few days time and leaving him behind could easily harm him. He would feel rejected and very alone. He could easily sink into a dark depression. Minor problems that he would normally be able to ignore would seem far worse to him than they were."

Sebastian frowned in concern. "Is there anything that can be done to... to _cure_ this attachment?"

"I do not know. All I can suggest is that, if you value his sanity, you do your best to spend some time with him at regular intervals, to show your approval of the things he does that you value, whenever such is honestly deserved – like his healing, and his labouring on this question of mages and men. Show interest in him and his doings. Ask his opinion on things. Avoid obviously excluding him from gatherings. See to it that he feels safe and appreciated. Allow him – _encourage_ him – to begin forming friendships with others. He may, in time, recover enough, _heal_ enough, to stand on his own again. But until he does, you and that cat _are_ a large part of his sanity."

Sebastian slowly nodded. "You have given me much to think on," he said softly.


	34. Winter Journey

Sebastian frowned apprehensively as he crossed the main room of Anders' cottage, heading up the stairs to the attic study. He could heard Fenris' deep voice talking, and knew he and Anders must be at work. He quickly smoothed out his expression as he heard a dog bark and Fenris break off. "Just me," he called out, then he reached the top of the stairs and turned to smile cheerfully at the two men seated there. Fenris gave him a polite nod, while Anders... _beamed_ , staying behind his desk but clearly very pleased to see Sebastian. This was only the third time he'd made a point of visiting the mage since Fenris had told him of his suspicions; the joyful expression on the mage's face whenever they first encountered led him to believe that the elf's suspicions were correct.

Ganwyn bounced around his feet, looking excitedly up at him, tail whisking from side to side, and he took a moment to ruffle the dog's ears before walking forward. Haelioni, stretched out on the floor in front of Anders' desk, did nothing more energetic than lift her head to look at him before lowering it again and apparently resuming her interrupted nap.

"I thought I'd come visit, and see how you two were getting on," Sebastian said, and found himself a seat. Ganwyn, having seen him to his chair and claimed another pat, went over and heaved himself up onto the couch that Fenris was sitting on, curling up on the cushions with his head outstretched toward the elf, nose not-quite-touching his leg.

"We have not yet killed each other," Fenris said dryly. Fenris made every show of being unaware of the dog's close presence, but as he spoke his hand stole out and began scratching behind the dog's ear, to Ganwyn's obvious pleasure.

"Are you making progress, then?" Sebastian asked.

"Some, yes," Anders agreed, then gestured at the sizable stack of parchment in front of him. "Though we have gotten a little side-tracked. I realized that none of the documents the Revered Mother loaned to me were based on the accounts of anyone as closely placed to the centres of power in Tevinter as Fenris had been. It's mainly things they learned from peons and slaves escaped from rural establishments, the occasional person from one of the cities, very few of whom ever had much to do with the magisters themselves. Only one account was from a household slave of a magister, and that was someone from a rarely-used country estate, who'd spent most of their life serving at the one place before fleeing to Starkhaven after what seems to have been a rather bloody dual between their magister and a guest."

"Ah... so you are making a similar document based on Fenris' observations?" Sebastian asked.

Anders nodded and grinned. "Exactly. I'll give it to the Revered Mother when we're finished it, to add to her library here," he said, and glanced at Fenris. "I've told Fenris his observations are unique enough that she'll likely have it copied and sent on to some of the larger chantry collections, here and abroad. We hear very little out of Minrathous apart from what they _want_ us to hear. Which certainly _doesn't_ include any details about their more sordid side."

Sebastian turned to the elf. "You are fine with your words being written down and spread like this?" he asked curiously.

Fenris shrugged. "I am somewhat fascinated by the idea of it," he said thoughtfully. "That others elsewhere will be able to read my words about the ways of the Tevinter magisters, not just here but anywhere a copy of the words is sent, even decades from now... it is like a kind of magic."

Sebastian smiled. "It is that. In my library here we have works that let us know the ideas and thoughts and about the lives of men centuries dead... both great thinkers and great fools among them."

Fenris' lips twisted in a slight smile. "I will aim not to be thought a fool, at least."

Sebastian snorted and smiled. "Never that, my friend," he said, then looked back at Anders. "How does work in the clinic progress? Still busy?"

Anders shrugged and leaned back in his chair. Ashes was in his arms, Sebastian noted, no longer looking at all kittenish any more, but instead gone all long-legged and full of slender grace. "It's slowed back down again now, now that we've dealt with the worst of the Ansburg refugees," he said.

"Good," Sebastian said. "I was thinking of taking a trip out to the keep where we've sent the mages and templars, to see how they're settling in. I'd like you two to go along with me."

"When?" Fenris asked.

"The day after tomorrow, leaving in mid-morning."

Fenris nodded. "I will be ready," he said.

"Anders?" Sebastian asked, looking back to him.

"Certainly, as long as I don't have to ride a horse, and can bring my cat."

Sebastian smiled, amused. "You can even bring the dogs, if you wish. We will be gone overnight, possibly two nights depending on how long we decide to stay at the keep. You can ride in the waggons with the supplies we'll be taking there. Fenris, do you ride?"

"No, I do not. I will walk."

"Not all the way," Anders told him sternly.

Fenris snorted, then reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Not all the way. I will ride in the waggons as well, when needed."

Sebastian frowned in thought. "After we return, I should have both of you take riding lessons. I doubt this will be the only time I wish you to join me on a journey somewhere, and we won't always have waggons or carriages along, or be able to hold back to the pace of those on foot. But discussion of that can wait until our return. Right now, why don't we go on up to my apartment and discuss our upcoming trip over lunch?"

* * *

Fenris fastened a last buckle on his armour, then rolled his shoulders, and went through a few athletic contortions, smiling at the familiar feel of his usual armour. It had taken longer than he'd expected for his armour to be repaired and returned; he had discovered why when the delivery included not one but three sets of armour, his original set – now repaired – and two new sets. One was done up in the colours of Sebastian's guardsmen, and the third in the gold-trimmed white and silver of Sebastian's own armour – for dress occasions, he'd been informed by an amused-looking prince when he'd protested the gift and the gaudiness.

He had considered wearing the second set today, so that he would blend in with Sebastian's guardsmen, and then decided on his own original armour instead; he felt more comfortable in the well-worn leathers than in the stiffer, newer set. And he wasn't entirely certain yet that he wanted to blend in.

Lifting his sword and its harness from the nearby weapon stand he buckled it on and headed off to Sebastian's room. The mage and his dogs were already there, he saw, having been told by Sebastian the day before to join them for breakfast. The big dog made her usual grumbling sound at him, while Ganwyn hurried over and sniffed at his legs and feet, tail wagging madly. He ignored the animal, moving to take his customary seat at the table.

The mage nodded warily at him, but was too busy eating to pay him much attention. Ashes was in his lap, delicately accepting the occasional offering of a bit of bacon or egg. Fenris loaded his own plate, and began neatly eating his own breakfast. He wondered briefly where Sebastian himself was – the prince was usually already at table when he arrived.

He glanced at Anders as he ate. The mage was looking unusually cheerful this morning; doubtless due to the prospect of spending the next few days in Sebastian's company, away from the castle. And seeing some of his fellow mages, something that brought anything but delight to Fenris himself.

It had bothered him more than he would have expected when he'd first begun to suspect that the mage was... fixated, on Sebastian. Only after he'd told Sebastian of his theory had he realized why it disturbed him so much; prior to seeing this sickness in Anders, he had only ever seen it in slaves before.

He'd remembered, then, how back in Kirkwall Anders had more than once compared the plight of the mages to slavery, and how infuriated it had always made him. He'd been so certain that the man's words were nothing more than the grossest of exaggerations, and found them deeply offensive. And yet... Anders own experiences as a mage had clearly traumatized him as badly as anything he had ever seen in the most abused of slaves. Fenris knew that the conditions most mages lived in were far better than anything most slaves could hope for – well fed, warmly clothed, protected from the weather, even allowed an education, _encouraged_ to spend their time in study. Yet it was not comfort or the lack of it that defined slavery, he knew – much of his own living conditions had been significantly better than that which many of his fellow slaves had experienced, better even than what many freeborn humans in the Imperium could enjoy, but that had made him no less a slave.

So far in their talks together they had mainly focused on discussing Tevinter, and how the mage-run society there worked. Most especially on their self-assigned work of transcribing Fenris' memories of what daily life among the magisters was like. So far they had avoided speaking much of Anders' own past; the mage had seemed just as happy to avoid the subject so far, and he hadn't pushed. But perhaps he should have. More and more, he was beginning to wonder just what the man's life had been like. And wasn't quite sure if he was looking forward to or dreading hearing the mage talk about his life as a circle mage and eventual apostate.

The doors open and Sebastian hurried in, already dressed in his armour and looking a little windblown. "Sorry I'm late," he said, smiling at both of them as he moved to take his own seat, quickly loading down a plate with his own breakfast. "I went to select my mount for the journey and it took longer than I'd planned. The waggons are all loaded and we should be ready to leave within the hour."

Fenris nodded. Anders frowned slightly. "How's the weather?" the mage asked worriedly.

"Cold, but clear. A little windy. It feels like it might cloud over and rain later, but with luck we'll be at the keep by then," Sebastian said.

They soon finished their breakfast, and parted ways again, Anders to his cottage to get some warmer clothing and his coat, Fenris to his own room to toss some changes of underclothing and a nightshirt into a small bag. At the last moment he dug his sheepskin slippers out from under the bed and shoved them in as well; cold wouldn't bother him while he was walking, but it wouldn't hurt to have them on hand. Just in case.

He hurried down the hallway, down stairs to the main doors and out to the courtyard between the keep entrance and the main gates. There was a line of three waggons waiting there, each drawn by four draft horses. A troop of guards was forming up for the journey as well, mounted guards at the front and back and a small group of guards on foot as well, armed with bows and long-swords, spread out along the train.

He was hesitating near the door, not sure where in the line he should be, when Sebastian emerged from the Keep as well. Anders was trailing along behind him, flanked by his dogs and with a bag slung over his shoulder, his cat's head sticking up out of the open top. Fenris fell in behind the mage and followed both of them over to the waggons. Sebastian saw Anders seated in the back of the third waggon, along with his dogs, then a groom led over his horse, a sizable sorrel gelding, its reddish coat a near-match for Sebastian's own hair. He swung up into the saddle and moved to a position just back of the waggon, where he could easily talk to Anders as they moved. Fenris stepped into place beside his horse.

Sebastian rose in his stirrups and looked up and down the line, then nodded to a mounted man nearby. "Let's get underway," he said. The man nodded and moved to the front of the line, then called out an order, and they moved out, at a slow walk to start, until they'd passed out of the castle ground, down through one corner of the city, and out a gate in the wall. They picked up the pace after that, to a fast walk for those on foot and a gentle amble for the horses. Fenris found himself enjoying the walk; a little cool, yes, but that meant he wasn't getting overheated, and the pace was one he knew he could keep up for hours without difficulty.

Ganwyn jumped out of the waggon after a while, and spent some time moving up and down the verge of the road, investigating interesting smells and then dashing back at intervals to fall in alongside Fenris and Sebastian, checking that Anders was still in the waggon. Haelioni was content to remain in the waggon, lounging on a pile of sacks and watching the world go by.

The day was cold, as Sebastian had said, and by mid-day Fenris' feet were starting to ache slightly from the rough gravel underfoot; they were toughening again, but still had nowhere near as much callus as he was used to. He let Sebastian persuade him to ride in the waggon for a while after their stop for lunch, sitting near Anders with his legs folded, feet tucked under him for warmth. Odd, he found himself thinking, how much colder it felt in Starkhaven than it ever had in Kirkwall, even though this was further north and should therefore be warmer in winter, if anything. He wondered if Kirkwall being on the coast had anything to do with it. He could only rarely remember seeing snow in Kirkwall, but by what Sebastian had told him of the weather here, there was snow for a while every weather. Perhaps the altitude had something to do with it; he knew there were mountains whose peaks remained snow-covered year-round, and Starkhaven was higher up than Kirkwall was. He spent some time lost in thought, enjoyably pondering the question, listening with only half an ear to the conversation Sebastian and Anders were having about how they'd dealt with the influx of refugees from Ansburg, and things they had learned from the experience.

In late afternoon the keep finally came into view, a squat structure on top of a hill to the southeast. They continued south, the keep passing to their left, before finally turning east, following the road to a ford in one of the two rivers that joined beneath the hill the keep stood on. Fenris decided to stay in the waggon rather than crossing the ford on foot; the foot-soldiers climbed into the waggons as well, none of them wanting to get their boots and leggings wet on such a chilly day. Made chillier yet by the thick cloud-cover that had been moving in since mid-afternoon; it was indeed beginning to look like rain was due.

Fenris glanced at Anders as the waggons slowed and started north up the slope toward the gates. The mage was looking over his shoulder at the approaching keep, an apprehensive expression on his face.

Perhaps the man was no more looking forward to seeing his fellow mages than Fenris himself was.

He wondered why.


	35. Old Fears and New

Anders squeezed his hands into fists to hide the way they were beginning to tremble as the waggon rolled in through the gate of the keep. He darted a glance up to the walls over the gate. Templars, standing guard. More waiting on the steps of the keep, waiting to greet Sebastian and his party. He felt his fingernails digging painfully into his palms and forced his hands to relax a little bit. He swallowed, then swallowed again, feeling the sour taste and bite of bile in the back of his throat.

Haelioni rose to a sitting position and looked around attentively, then turned and nosed at his hair, warm breath gusting against the back of his neck. He released a little sigh, and reached up to sink the fingers on one hand into the thick fur at her neck, scratching around the base of her ear, taking comfort from her presence.

The waggon slowed further. Fenris was up and out over the side before it had even fully stopped, looking around with interest. Anders knew he needed to get up and get out of the waggon as well, but his legs were refusing to obey him. He didn't want to get out. He didn't want to be here, surrounded by templars and mages. He wished he was back in Starkhaven, facing nothing more threatening than another day of working in the clinic and listening to Fenris talk about life as a slave in the Tevinter Imperium. He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to gather the courage to get up and out of the waggon.

"Anders?" He heard Sebastian say, softly. He opened his eyes again, found the prince looking at him, a faint crease between his eyebrows and a look on concern on his face. Fenris stood beside him, one gauntleted hand resting on the horse's neck, looking at him as well, face still.

"I think my legs have gone to sleep from sitting in this waggon all day," he said lightly, forcing a smile at Sebastian. "They don't want to move."

A slight smile crossed Sebastian's lips. "Is that all it is? Well, easy enough mended," he said, then dismounted from his horse, tossing the reins to a nearby foot-soldier and stepping to the back of the waggon. He dropped the gate, then leaned forward over it. "Give me a hand, Fenris," he said over his shoulder as he reached out to take hold of one of Anders' arms. Fenris stepped over and silently grasped his other forearm, and the two of them pulled him to his feet and helped him out the back of the waggon.

His legs really were half-asleep, enough so that he leaned on Sebastian for support for a moment. "I promise, you'll be leaving here with me," Sebastian breathed into his ear, hand tightening on his arm for a moment before releasing him and stepping away.

He drew a deep, shaky breath, and nodded in acknowledgement at Sebastian before straightening up. Haelioni was pressing up against him, her head turned to look up at him. He rested one hand on her back, other reaching to touch Ashes' head where the cat was peering out of the bag still slung over his shoulder, woken up from his nap on Anders' spare clothes. Ganwyn pranced over and leaned against his leg for a moment too, tail whipping energetically from side to side.

Sebastian was moving off to speak to the templars waiting on the keep steps. Fenris moved to stand near Anders. Anders wouldn't have thought he'd ever find the elf's company particularly reassuring, but today... it somehow was. He gathered together the ragged shreds of his courage, and followed after Sebastian, Fenris walking along a few paces to the side. He took Ashes out of his bag as he walked, holding the cat in his arms, scratching at his jaw and neck, as much to soothe himself as the cat.

As they approached the templars, the group of them moved down off of the stairs to level ground, one moving a few steps ahead of the others to greet Sebastian.

"Prince Vael," the templar said, giving him a deep, formal bow. "I am Knight-Commander Lawrence, lately in charge of the Ansburg Circle of Magi. Or at least what remains of it," he added grimly. "Thank you for offering us the use of this keep. The shelter is deeply appreciated by all of us."

Sebastian nodded his head in formal greeting to the man. "I hope the keep meets the needs of you and your people? We have brought you additional supplies, foods and warm blankets and such. The Revered Mother has also sent you some necessary supplies..." he turned and gestured to the first waggon, where a large locked chest was even then being lifted out by a pair of guardsmen.

The Knight-Commander looked relieved, and quickly signalled for a couple of his men to go take charge of the chest. "Yes, thank you, the keep is quite adequate," he said with an easy smile. "Would you care for a tour?"

"Certainly," Sebastian said. "That would be enjoyable. Oh, and let me introduce my companions – these are Fenris, and Anders," he said, gesturing to each in turn.

Fenris nodded graciously to the man. Anders had to force himself to move, to dip his head in greeting as well.

Lawrence turned away, leading the way up the stairs and into the keep, talking easily to Sebastian. Anders paid no attention, concentrating mainly on just _walking_ , following behind Sebastian. Past the other templars, who were moving towards the waggons now, presumably to help unload them, and into the keep. Sebastian and Lawrence had stopped a few paces inside the door, Sebastian looking around appreciatively at the entry hall. It was spotlessly clean, though sparsely furnished.

"You've made a great difference here already, I can see," he said approvingly. "I must apologize for the filthy conditions you likely found here when you arrived; sadly it was not until I was seeking a place to put you all that I discovered the caretaker had been senile for some years. Though as apart from the dirt this was the most suitable building I had available, in the end I thought its defensibility overcame whatever drawbacks its unkempt condition represented."

The Knight-Commander nodded. "We've been making good progress on cleaning and repairs; the work is serving to keep our hands busy and our minds occupied, at least. But come, let me show you what we've done," he said, and resumed walking. "We've taken the bottom two floors to house the templars, and the mages are setting up places for themselves in the higher levels."

He led them through the simple dormitories that most of the templars were currently sharing. Only a very few of the most senior templars had separate quarters, the lower levels of the tower running more to quite large rooms than to smaller ones suitable for offices or private quarters.

The second floor had three large rooms, the smaller set aside as an armoury for the templars, the second room as another templar dormitory, and the largest set up as a refectory that was also used by the mages, served by a kitchen down in the basement of the tower, where the storage rooms were also located. There was also a number of smaller rooms here, which had been set up as offices for those templars who required one – the Knight-Commander and a couple of his officers, presumably one for the First Enchanter as well.

It was in the refectory that they encountered the first of the mages, a pair of tired-looking women sitting on a bench in one corner of the room, a large group of apprentice-aged mages perched on the benches, floor, and tables around them, clearly in the middle of a lesson of some kind. The teachers stopped when they saw the group, the older of the pair rising to her feet. She had brown hair well-threaded with silver, and warm brown eyes. Her brow was creased with worry-lines at the moment, but judging by the smile-lines elsewhere on her face, it was not her usual expression.

"Knight-Commander Lawrence," she said, dipping her head.

"First Enchanter Elisa. This is our host, Prince Sebastian Vael, and his companions. I am conducting them on a tour of the tower. Would you care to join use?" he asked formally.

She dipped her head again. "Gladly," she said, and turned to the other woman. "Carry on with the lesson, please," she said, and then threaded her way through the apprentices and walked over to join them, bowing to Sebastian and glancing curiously at Fenris and Anders and his menagerie before turning back to the Knight-Commander and looking expectantly at him. He set off again, higher into the tower.

Here they saw more mages, most of them at work either cleaning or at setting up the cleaned areas as bedrooms, studies, what would be a library and classrooms once they had books and other necessary furnishings for them; they had fled Ansburg with little more than the clothes on their back, and had almost nothing apart from what could be salvaged out of the dilapidated furnishings of the keep and whatever Sebastian and the Starkhaven chantry sent them. Anders found himself feeling even more on edge than he had when just templars had been around; now there were templars _and_ mages, and as many mages as he'd interacted with in his long years in Kirkwall, he was sure that sooner or later...

And there, a face he recognized, someone who'd been part of the mage underground, one of their contacts inside the Gallows in Kirkwall for years. He saw he look up from the dark old wooden desk she was labouring to clean, see them, see _him_ , her eyes widening momentarily in shock... he forced himself not to react, not to look at her. Her felt her eyes on him as they moved by and continued on across the room, felt her staring at his back. He felt... light-headed, and more than a little nauseous.

Someone who had known him in Kirkwall. Someone who might well know what he had done there, that _he_ was responsible for all the terrible things that had started there, result of his and Justice's unreasoning anger.

He should have stayed in Starkhaven. He wasn't sure why he'd come here. He edged a little closer to Sebastian, hand tightening in Haelioni's fur.

He shouldn't have come.


	36. A Good Thought

Anders had been tense since their arrival, Sebastian had noticed. The man was hiding it reasonably well, but it was obvious to him that the mage was deeply unsettled by the presence of so many templars. He really should have considered that before inviting him along on this trip, he'd belatedly realized when he'd seen Anders go pale and tense as they entered the keep's courtyard, his eyes darting around to take in their surroundings.

He'd at least begun to look a little less haunted when Sebastian had reassured him while helping him out of the cert. And his dogs were staying close by him, which seemed to be helping him to stay calm.

It wasn't until they had finished their tour of the tower and were walking back down to the lower floors that he noticed that Anders was looking pale again, sweat beading on his brow, the hand holding Ashes visibly trembling.

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but I could use a bit of a break before I do anything else," Sebastian casually remarked to the Knight-Commander. "It's been a while since I was last in the saddle for so long a time, and my legs are demanding a rest. If you could show me to the room I'll be staying tonight? And we can talk further after the evening meal..."

"Of course," Lawrence said. "I hope you don't mind, we weren't expecting anyone other than yourself and your guards... will your companions prefer to stay in with the guards, or should we arrange a second room for them as well?"

"Oh, no reason to bother, they can share mine, assuming it's large enough for a couple of extra cots?"

"Of a certainty," the Knight-Commander agreed, and led them to the room in questions. It was indeed more than large enough for a couple of cots – the bed filled less than half the floorspace, and apart from an empty armour stand and a small table beside it, the bed was the only furnishing. The Knight-Commander promised to send up two cots as soon as they'd been unloaded from the waggons, then said his farewells and left them alone.

"Have a seat, Anders," Sebastian said, taking the mage by the arm and leading him over to the bed, the only place to sit available in the room apart from the floor. Anders gratefully sat down, closing his eyes and just shaking for a minute.

"I should have thought, before bringing you here among templars... is there anything I can do? Anything you need?" he asked anxiously.

Anders shook his head, eyes still closed. "Just... don't leave me alone, please," he said faintly. "I should have thought too, about how... _difficult_ , being around templars again was going to be for me." He stopped, biting his lip as if biting back additional words.

Sebastian moved to sit on the bed as well. Ganwyn jumped up on the bed, and leaned against Anders' back, with his hindquarters and gently waving tail pressed against one of the mage's shoulders and head curving around the opposite shoulder, head turned to sniff at the side of Anders' face. Anders gave a short surprised laugh as the dog's tongue flicked out and swiped wetly against his chin, and opened his eyes again. Colour was slowly returning to his face. He drew a deep breath, and glanced nervously at Fenris, standing quietly near the door, then looked at Sebastian. "Sorry," he said quietly.

"No need to apologize," Sebastian said. "We'll just rest until the evening meal, and then after that you can come right back to the room again. I'll likely need to spend some time talking with the Knight-Commander, but you'll have your dogs to keep you company... or I could make an excuse about being too tired, if you need to me stay?"

"I will stay with the mage after dinner," Fenris said quietly. "We could talk further about Tevinter."

Anders nodded. "Thank you, I would welcome the company," he agreed faintly.

There was a knock at the door just then, a couple of Sebastian's own guardsmen arriving with the requested cots. After they'd been set up Anders moved from the bed to one, stretching out on his back, Ashes curling up on his stomach. Ganwyn immediately climbed up as well, draping himself over the mage's legs, and Haelioni moved to lie down alongside the cot, nosing briefly at Anders' elbow and upper arm before finally lowering her head to the floor.

Fenris took off his sword, leaning it in the corner by his own cot, then sat down, stripping off his gauntlets and dropping them on the cot beside himself, turning to look briefly at the mage before turning to look at Sebastian. "This keep seems a good choice of location for the Ansburg mages and their keepers," he said.

Sebastian nodded. "I thought it seemed quite suitable," he agreed. "I am pleased to see them settling in so rapidly. The supplies we brought them will certainly help to make the place much more comfortable, though there is a long way to go before this place would even begin to be up to the standard of most formal Circle towers."

"No library yet, for one," Anders pointed out, eyes still closed. He was looking much more himself now, his colour good and his hand steady as he slowly stroked it along Ashes' back over and over again.

"Nor likely to be for quite some time," Sebastian agreed. "Having books copied and sent here from elsewhere will be an expensive proposition, and with so much turmoil currently, few other Circles will likely be able to spare the resources to assist in making such copies in the first place."

"Could you not have some of the books in your own library copied?" Fenris asked, looking faintly puzzled. "Would not that be cheaper than sending abroad for books?"

"Aye, but there are two problems. One is that it is books on magic that mages mostly need, for their studies, and such are likely rare in my collection, or in the chantry library. The second is having enough trained scribes to do the copying; Hawke had started to teach you reading and writing, hadn't he? Did you find it easy to learn?"

"He intended to, but we only ever had one lesson," Fenris said, then flushed, looking slightly shamefaced. "It was quite difficult, and I grew more frustrated than I perhaps should have allowed myself to, and... he never attempted a second lesson."

"Ah. Well, it usually takes years of training for someone to become good enough at reading and writing to become a copyist," Sebastian explained. "The chantry maintains a small scriptorium for the maintenance and copying of the works in their own library, but they have the benefit that most clergy are trained in the work of clerks and scribes from a young age, most of them being orphans raised within the chantry itself; once their avocation makes itself known, they go directly into training. Then there are usually a few scribes for hire in the general populace, many of whom are also chantry-raised, and the scions of noble families, such as myself, who are given a formal education from a young age. Apart from that there are almost none who can manage even the most basic of reading and writing, so hiring people to do the work is difficult. The children of nobles rarely have interest in or the need to take such menial work, the chantry folk are usually busy with their own duties within the chantry, and trained scribes are uncommon and expensive to hire for the length of time needed to copy out books."

Fenris frowned and nodded. "I see. But aren't the mages themselves trained in reading and writing? Since the library is for them, could not they do the bulk of the work? At least with any books available locally that would suit their library?"

Sebastian started to speak, then stopped and just sat there for a long moment, frowning in thought. Anders opened his eyes after a moment, raising himself up on his elbows, and turned his head to look at Sebastian.

"It's a good thought," Sebastian said slowly. "The only bar I can see to it being a workable one would be the perceived danger of allowing such a group of mages within the walls to do it; emotions are still higher against them than I am happy with. But... perhaps, if we started quietly with just a very small group of them, it might be doable."

"You could start a scriptorium of your own then," Anders said, and smiled lazily. "Maybe even have the mages teach reading and writing to others, like the chantry school does. Found a school of your own."

"Found a school?" Sebastian asked, looking mildly surprised. "Whatever for?"

"Why not?"" Anders asked with a shrug. "You have many refugees in need of work; surely some of them would be intelligent enough to learn reading and writing, even figuring. Then they'd be able to get work as clerks or scribes... or copyists. Books are expensive, but the market for them is always there, and you undoubtedly have many rare or unique volumes in that monster of a library of yours. With sufficient copyists, you could spare some to work on copying some of the rarer volumes to be sold abroad, and that would help offset the cost of the copies being made for the mages themselves. More, some of the rare volumes _should_ be copied – think of how much knowledge was lost, when the library in the Ansburg circle burned," he said bleakly, looking saddened for a moment. "Or the library of the original Starkhaven Circle – that burned too, didn't it. And I doubt the library in the Gallows has faired much better."

"Or that in the Kirkwall chantry," Fenris pointed out dryly.

Anders winced, but nodded in agreement. "Yes, or that," he agreed quietly. "I remember reading for a while in there once, one rainy day when Hawke had dragged me there while he spoke to the Grand Cleric about something or other... they had some wonderful illustrated herbals. And a complete collection of the travelogues of Brother Genitivi. I was never sure which I was more jealous of."

Sebastian laughed. "I possess copies of most of the good Brother's writings myself," he said. "They're somewhere in that 'monster' of a library, the ones that aren't squirrelled away in my own quarters anyway."

"Travelogues?" Fenris asked, looking perplexed.

"Writings about his travels abroad," Anders explained. "Places he went, the things he saw and people he met there, interesting folk customs and costumes... if you can't travel somewhere yourself, his books are the next-best thing. Though I suspect he exaggerates the excitement of what has happened to him in some of them. One can hardly write a travelogue about Antiva and claim to have met no Crows, for instance," he said with an amused smile. "The readers will want you to have not just met Crows, but somehow been witness to some grand plot and the resultant assassinations. So sometimes, I think, he maybe... makes up bits. To make it more interesting."

"This sounds suspiciously like Isabela and Varric's 'friend fiction'," Fenris pointed out.

Anders shrugged. "Even their writings have value, to people of a certain frame of mind. And who knows, some of their tales might still be titillating folk a hundred years from now. Varric always assured me that his 'Hard in Hightown' is a series for the ages," he said, lips twisting in an ironic smile. "All knowledge is of some value to someone, somewhere. Even knowledge about sex, though it isn't to everyone's taste in reading material."

"The erotic uses of exotically shaped tubers are certainly something I wish I had never heard Isabela mention in my vicinity," Sebastian said dryly. "That is knowledge I could have done without."

Anders barked with laughter, and even Fenris smiled.


	37. Confidences Exchanged

Sebastian was pleased to see that Anders, while tense, got through the evening meal in the refectory, packed full of templars and mages as it was, without any obvious signs of stress. It may have helped that he was seated between Sebastian and Fenris, his dogs at his back and his cat curled up in his lap. He largely kept his attention on his plate, only occasionally looking up to glance at their table companions, and didn't take part in any of the conversations over the meal.

Afterwards Anders and Fenris headed back to their room, while Sebastian accompanied the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter to the Knight-Commander's office to discuss plans for the future of the Ansburg circle here in Starkhaven. Once the office door was closed and the three seated, a serious frown crossed the Knight-Commander's face. "Prince Vael, there is another subject we need to discuss with you first," he said worriedly, then turned to the mage. "Elisa, you're the one that brought me word..."

She nodded, and turned to Sebastian. "Prince Vael, I must ask – are you fully aware of the identity of the man, Anders, in your company? Or should I say, the _mage_ Anders?"

"Yes, I am," he answered calmly. "I know that he is a mage from Ferelden, who was recruited by the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine and served among them for a while before fleeing to Kirkwall. I knew him in Kirkwall for many years. And before you ask, as I can see what information in particular it is you fear I do not know – yes, I am aware that it was he that was a key participant in the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry," he said, and flushed with remembered anger. "Few know it better than I," he finished softly.

The Knight-Commander frowned in concern. "And yet you allow this man to live? And even more, to walk free as one of your trusted companions?"

"Not free," Sebastian said, shaking his head and wondering how many more times to how many other people he was going to have to explain this. "He is my prisoner; he surrendered to me here in Starkhaven some weeks after the events in Kirkwall. I came close to killing him at the time. I don't know how much you have heard of my own history, but I served in the Kirkwall chantry for many years – technically speaking I am still a sworn brother, as the Grand Cleric never formally released me from all of my vows. She and I were... close. I thought very highly of her, and her death affected me deeply. In fact I initially returned to Starkhaven in anger, intending to reclaim my throne merely with the rather selfish aim of raising an army to hunt down the apostate and see him slain for his role in the events in Kirkwall."

"And what stopped you, then?" Lawrence asked curiously. "From killing him, that is – I would assume it was his own appearance here that prevented the need to hunt him down."

"Aye. Though I had already begun to see the selfishness of that goal when my people needed me here. The Grand Cleric had written a letter to me before her death; it was waiting for me in Starkhaven when I arrived. In it she chastised my readiness to give in to anger, and bade me to not seek vengeance – something she knew I had done before, after the Harriman family slaughtered my own. So I spared Anders life, rather than killing him out of hand; he is a talented healer, as you may know if you have heard much of his life in Kirkwall," he added, turning to look questioningly at Elisa.

"I have heard such, yes," she agreed. "The ones who came and told me of his identity after seeing him in your company had known him well; they were all originally from Kirkwall, apostates and circle mages both, and a few admitted they had even been part of the mage underground there and worked closely with him, though they had been unaware of his plans to destroy the chantry until it occurred."

"Good. Then you will understand that I thought it better to put his skills to use, than to leave him to languish in a prison. More, I do not feel that he was entirely responsible for his actions in Kirkwall," he added, and frowned, thinking how best to explain this without touching on subjects they had no need to know. "He had an accomplice, who played on his anger against templars and the chantry, and came up with the plan that he enacted. I believe he repents, now, of what he did under that creature's influence. And I cannot claim that I think he had no _reason_ for his anger," he added, grimly. "I have seen the scars he bears from repeated whippings and other abuse. It does not make me _forgive_ his actions in Kirkwall, you understand, but... it makes me see how easily he was manipulated into them, when he had suffered so much in the chantry's less than tender care," he finished softly.

Elisa looked at the Knight-Commander. Lawrence nodded slowly. "It has ever been a problem, that some templars – even some Knight-Commanders – treat their charges with abuse instead of protecting them from such. I know the Ansburg circle was led by one such man for some years – not the one before me, but the one before him."

Elisa nodded. "It was a very bad time," she agreed. "I remember all too well the fear we lived in, under him. Many despaired, and some broke, giving in to demons in their fear. Which _he_ saw as reason to be even harsher with those that remained," she added grimly.

Lawrence nodded. "Among our older mages I am still dealing with the aftereffects that such unwarranted punishment raised. The end of the abuse does not end the anger, or the fears it inspired. Even after years of my leadership, I know there are those among our mages who do not trust that I will protect them, not prey on them. Though most such of those took the opportunity of the destruction of the circle to flee."

Sebastian nodded. "Well, rest assured that I am aware of Anders' identity, and of his actions. He lives on my sufferance."

Lawrence frowned. "Are you sure you can handle him if he attempts escape? With no templar to drain him..."

"I have something even better than a templar. My other companion, Fenris – he was originally the bodyguard of a Tevinter Magister, a slave in the Imperium. He has protections woven into his very flesh that make him largely immune to what any mage could attempt to do to him without a very thorough knowledge of how his protections work, and is also a formidable warrior. I have seen him walk up to and tear the very heart from the chest of a blood mage when all others in our group were rendered helpless. As an ex-slave, he has no love for mages. If Anders ever turned on us, I trust Fenris to see he does not survive the attempt. But I do not believe he will attempt such," he added, frowning. "He is in many ways a broken man, now. After all that happened to him in Kirkwall his rebelliousness seems to be largely gone, burnt out by his own horror at what he did there. I have given him my protection, some small degree of comfort, and work that is suited to his nature. I believe he is inclined to stay where he is."

"Anyway, enough of Anders, we have other things we should be discussing while I am here," Sebastian said. "Such as what other supplies you still need. And Fenris had an interesting thought about how to provide a library for your mages that I would like to discuss with you, as well..."

* * *

Fenris politely turned his back on Anders as both of them changed into their nightshirts, the close quarters giving them no real privacy. He neatly piled his armour on the floor beside his cot, having nowhere else to put it, then lay down, pulling the blanket he'd been provided with up to his waist.

Anders was just climbing onto his own cot, hampered by Ashes and Ganwyn trying to join him there before he'd even lain down. Fenris snorted, then pursed his lips and whistled sharply. Ganwyn whipped around to look at him in surprise, before bounding over to him, tail wagging furiously.

"Thanks, I think," Anders said as he finally succeeded in climbing into bed. "Why doesn't he do that for _me_..."

"Have you ever tried?"

"Well... no."

"Try."

Anders pursed his lips and whistled tentatively. Haelioni heaved herself upright and looked attentively at him, while Ganwyn immediately abandoned his attempt to worm his head under Fenris' arm. The smaller dog raced back to Anders' cot, leaping up on top of it and standing over the mage, sniffing and licking excitedly at his face and arms. Anders laughed and shoved him away. The dog snuck in a final lick then moved to the foot of the cot and draped himself across the mage's legs.

"The dogs are trained to respond to specific whistles," Fenris said. "I had an interesting talk with Sebastian about it one rainy afternoon when we visited the kennels. You should learn them; there is much more those two can do than just sit around, if you know how to direct them."

Anders frowned thoughtfully. "I remember when Sebastian and I picked them out, the kennel master used a lot of whistles with the dogs... you're right, I probably should learn them," he agreed, then sighed and turned over on his side, temporarily displacing Ganwyn and Ashes, so he could look at Fenris more easily. "So... it's far too early to actually sleep. I suppose we might as well talk for a while."

Fenris grunted. "Yes. Though perhaps about something other than Tevinter."

"Such as?"

"I find myself curious about the Circles of Magi. I have only really seen much of the circle in Tevinter and the Gallows in Kirkwall, neither of which, I am given to believe, are representative of what the majority of circles in Thedas are like. Tell me more about your own experience of what a typical circle is like."

Anders frowned in thought, and was silent for so long Fenris began to think he wasn't going to answer. Finally he sighed, curling up with Ashes held close in his arms.

"My own experience... the templars came for me when I was twelve or thirteen years old. My powers had manifested a couple of years prior to that; healing, after my father was injured while clearing land for our farm. He'd have turned me in to the chantry, except healing was so obviously _useful_ and my mother begged him not to. They were both deeply religious and felt that my mage powers meant I was cursed by the Maker – an all too common belief wherever the chantry rules," Anders said bitterly. "But I was rebellious even then – I didn't want to spend the rest of my life as a farmer, as my father was – and to this day I don't know if my father himself eventually tired of me and turned me in, or if one of the neighbours whose family or livestock I healed did it."

"My mother... protested, when they came to take me, so I'm at least sure it wasn't her. One of the older templars lost his temper and hit her, with his fist... she fell to the ground, her head bleeding, and they hauled me away. My father just stood there, watching... she lay there on the ground at his feet, so very, very still. I have always feared that the blow killed her. I never saw them again, nor heard from them; the chantry discourages the parents of mage children from trying to remain in contact with them. If they even want to. Easier to control us, if we have no one we can turn to outside the towers," he said, with quiet bitterness.

Fenris nodded slowly. Anders' story so far reminded him uncomfortably of scenes he'd witnessed himself, when young slaves were sold away from their parent. Parent, singular – as most slaves were bred like livestock, only the maternal bond allowed for some little time while the child was being raised to a useful age, and not even always that, some masters preferring to have the babies raised in common by a few nurses rather than having their stock distracted by concern over progeny. Actual families among the slaves were rare, sometimes permitted by some of the less harsh masters, or found among slaves who'd been free before circumstances forced them into slavery.

"They took me to the Circle of Magi there in Ferelden. It was some days travel away... I tried to escape, unsuccessfully. They thought it was funny the first time. They saw that I was tied up at night after that, under the eye of the templar with guard duty. Most of them were decent enough men, I suppose, but there was one who... handled me, one night while the others slept. I was still innocent enough back then that I didn't understand what he was doing, just that it was frightening, and _wrong_. I was too scared to say anything about it to any of them. Thankfully we reached the tower the next day, and they went off back to wherever it was they'd been sent from – one of the local chantrys, I suppose, whichever was closest to where we were living."

A sardonic smile crossed his face. "The templars at the tower wanted to know my name, for their records. I refused to tell them – I was too angry by then. The templars who'd brought me didn't know it either, they'd either never asked or had forgotten it by then if they'd been told. But they knew from our accent that my parents and I were from the Anderfels, so they wrote me down in the records as 'Anders', and that's whom I've been ever since."

He sighed, deeply. "I had no more interest in staying locked up in the tower than I'd had of being stuck on a farm for the rest of my life. So I started keeping an eye out for a way to escape, and eventually managed to do so. I was caught, of course, and brought back. And escaped again, and again. Each time I was brought back I was given a worse punishment. Oh, just minor things at first, like being on kitchen duty for a month, or forbidden the library for a while. It was still just a joke to them, the homesick boy trying to go home, or so they thought. And then I got older, and more skilled, and it stopped being a joke."

He silent for a very long time before speaking again. "I'd learned quickly. The Knight-Commander threatened me with tranquillity once or twice after my earliest escapes, and the last time he really meant it. But they're not allowed to make harrowed mages tranquil, so I pretended to have really been cowed, and made like a good little mage brat for a year, until he'd decided I'd finally learned my lesson and allowed me to be harrowed. And promptly escaped again – it was _months_ before they caught me that time," Anders said, sounding very self-satisfied for a moment.

"Greagoir was... livid. That was the first time he ordered me whipped, and locked up for a while. That wasn't too bad, not that time anyway. I still had the use of my power, so I healed up and spent the month plotting my next escape attempt, and how to avoid the templars after I did. They kept a close eye on me for months afterwards, and then the first time they didn't, I lit out again."

"Greagoir gave up on me after that," Anders said, very softly. "He left my discipline up to one of his lieutenants. I don't know if he didn't know or just didn't care about what an... _animal_ , that man could be, given free rein. No powers, kept poisoned with mage bane and locked away for several months, spiced with occasional beatings, more whippings... Finally I was let back out. I healed whatever hadn't already healed naturally afterwards, and as soon as I could I escaped again."

"When I was brought back from that... they put me in solitary, for a _year_. Except I wasn't left on my own, not all the time. They'd come visiting some nights, the templars who wanted to enjoy playing with the helpless mage. They always kept their helmets on and usually didn't speak, so I'd have no way of identifying them. For all I know, Greagoir was one of them... one of the ones who came and did unspeakable things to me in the dark. I had a _lot_ of scars when I was finally let out again. Not just on my skin. Ones I knew better than to let anyone know about; it had been made clear to me that if I gave away their little games, they'd see I died for it, in as creatively nasty a way as they could manage. No one would care to investigate the death of a mage with as bad a reputation as I had by then."

"The next time I escaped from the tower was my last. Oh, they caught me again, up in Amaranthine, and were hauling me back – for execution this time, since I'd long outworn any urge toward leniency Greagoir might have once felt. And then my life was saved by the strangest string of events I'd ever encountered in my life, ending with me being conscripted into the Grey Wardens."

He paused for a long time again, then rolled over on his back. "I... almost liked that. I liked our commander, I made friends among the wardens. I had a cat, and a place that was mine, and work that was _useful_. I might be there yet, except... Justice and I merged. And too many things changed, including Soria being called abroad for a while, and an ex-templar Grey Warden deciding that I was an abomination and trying to betray me to the chantry. Justice and I killed him, and the templars he'd brought with him, and then I ran away again."

Another long pause. "I'm tired of running," he said, in a very quiet voice.

"Do you remember what I said to Hawke, the first time we met?" Fenris asked quietly. "About running?"

"No. Wait... something about a tiger?"

"Yes. I told him, there comes a time when you must stop running, when you turn and face the tiger."

Anders frowned in thought. "I think I believed that was what I was doing, in Kirkwall. Facing the tiger. Attacking the chantry, trying to bring down the system of circles and mage repression... now I think back to how _certain_ I felt about everything I did in Kirkwall, and I... can't feel that certainty any more. I wonder if it was ever really my own emotion, or just... Justice. Vengeance. _Leaking_."

They lay silently for a while, both lost in thought.

"I thought you told Sebastian once that you'd been fortunate – that you'd never been beaten or raped by templars," Fenris asked hesitantly, very quietly.

"I lied," Anders said, voice flat and emotionless. "Back then... well, back then neither you nor Sebastian were people I'd have shared any real confidences with."

"And now?"

A short laugh. "Do you have to ask? I've just told you something I've only ever told three beings before. Soria, Justice and Hawke. Well, and some of it to Sebastian too, I think... I was a little out of my skull at the time, so I'm not quite sure how much of it he really knows."

Another long silence.

"Thank you for telling me, Anders."

"You're welcome. Fenris."


	38. Lessons Learned

"Do I really need to do this?" Anders asked nervously, eyeing the huge beast in front of him.

"Yes, you do," Sebastian said. "Come, it is not as hard as it looks – give me your cat and go practise mounting."

Anders nodded, handing Ashes over to the prince before nervously approaching the horse, a sizable horse, which Sebastian has identified as a 'bay mare, named Delores' and assured him not to worry, that he'd picked out one with a placid disposition for the anxious mage.

Placid at least seemed accurate; the mare turned her head to watch curiously as he approached her side, and apart from that seemed more interested in chewing the wisp of hay in her mouth. Following the quiet directions of a groom that Sebastian had assigned as his trainer, he awkwardly clambered up and into the saddle, earning nothing worse than a huff of air from the horse.

He'd hoped to put off the riding lessons a while longer. They'd all been busy since their return from the keep a week ago. Sebastian had been busy with his duties as prince and the work to organize housing for a small group of mages and templars that would be coming here from the keep to begin work on copying books for a library there. Fenris had been assisting the Guard-Captain with something, Anders knew, and their own talks had of course continued, whenever Anders wasn't busy in the clinic.

Fenris has been very quiet on their return trip, walking silently along behind the waggon, deep in thought. Anders himself had just been relieved to see the place gradually disappearing out of sight behind them, to be travelling away from it again. He hoped he'd never have to visit it again, and wasn't looking forward to there being templars actually staying in the castle itself, guarding their charges.

And then this morning he'd been finishing work at the clinic only to have Sebastian show up, Fenris in tow, to drag them both off to the stables to begin the riding lessons he'd suggested prior to their trip.

He glanced across the yard to where Fenris was sitting on his mount, an equally placid mare with a dark brown coat, listening intently to his own trainer.

If the elf could do this, surely he could too. He _liked_ animals. Even if horses were rather frighteningly large. He'd been worried by Haelioni's size at first, after all, and look what a big softie she was at heart. And horses only ate grass and grain and stuff like that, not meat like the dogs did. Sort of like... really big, overgrown rabbits. And rabbits didn't frighten him.

Though the thought of one as big as a horse was certainly a disturbing image.

He returned his attention to his trainer, and concentrated on the lesson. By the time it ended, he'd rode Delores around in circles long enough that his thighs ached. Fenris didn't seem to have any similar soreness.

Sebastian handed Ashes back over to Anders. "A good first lesson," he said approvingly. "You're both to come here every day for more, before joining me for lunch. Come, let's go eat," he said, and led the way back to his rooms.

"How do your plans for the scriptorium go?"Fenris asked once they'd served themselves and sat down.

"Well enough. I am putting aside a suite of rooms for the use of the mages and templars, the rooms are well-lit so they'll be able to do their work in the comfort of their own chambers. I was thinking that the less moving around the castle they had to do, the better; my archivist can deliver books that seem relevant to their interests there for copying," he said, then turned to Anders. "If you could help him with making selections, it would be appreciated. He tells me we do have a reasonable variety of books on magic, but suggested the mages would be interested in more than just those?"

Anders nodded. "Yes, as well as tomes about arcane matters, most Circle libraries also contain works on a great variety or other subjects, some of esoteric use – herbals, medical treatises and so forth – and some mainly for the education and entertainment of the circle members. Confined to a tower as most mages are for the majority of their lives, many take a great interest in reading, so a wide variety of materials on every subject, both fiction and non-fiction, are desirable. In the short term we should likely focus primarily on materials suitable for teaching the apprentices, then on works suitable for the older mages, but there should be at least some attention given to the need for recreational reading. Supplying materials they can use to indulge in their hobbies would also help to offset the boredom that will likely begin to set in once they've finished cleaning the keep."

"Hobbies?" Sebastian asked.

"Yes. Most mages have one or two. Everything from small handicrafts to more ambitious pursuits. Especially anything that can be done to produce little luxuries or decorative crafts – carving, embroidery, beadwork, fancy painting, that sort of thing. Most towers have a thriving barter economy in such things within their walls. I never took part in it much myself, other then whittling pegs all one winter for a mage who made furniture as a hobby. He made quite lovely pieces, and his work was always in demand," he said, eyes going distant for a moment with memory. "He was making a new desk for the First Enchanter that winter, among other projects. Beautiful wood in it; he spent ages carefully sawing a slab of burled wood in half to make the top. The flame technique, he called it. I wonder if they let him keep up woodworking after he was moved to Kirkwall. He never said."

Fenris looked up sharply. "Do you speak of the mage you had Hawke take you to meet in the chantry...?"

"Karl. Yes," Anders said shortly.

Sebastian looked curiously at the two of them. "A meeting in the Kirkwall chantry? I never heard this story," he said.

Fenris and Anders both frowned.

"It ended badly," Fenris said. "It was a trap for Anders."

"They'd made him tranquil," Anders said bleakly. "Even though he was a harrowed mage. Just to get _me_. Then a group of templars attacked us, trying to capture me – Hawke had brought Bethany along, so he and Fenris ended up having to fight them. We'd only just met then, I remember thinking at the time how thankful I was that Bethany was there, since I didn't think he'd have protected me if he hadn't needed to protect her from them too. I... didn't know him very well, obviously," he said with a strained smile.

"And Karl? What happened to him?" Sebastian asked quietly.

Anders looked bleak. "I killed him," he said, flatly.

"The mage regained his senses, briefly, after Justice put in one of his rather startling appearances during the battle," Fenris explained, quietly. "He _asked_ to be killed, rather than being... left as he was."

"We'd been lovers, once," Anders said, voice a near whisper. "That winter, when I was whittling pegs for him while waiting for another chance to escape. He was... very kind to me. By then I already had a very bad reputation, and few of the mages would have anything to do with me; worried it would rub off on them, I suppose. He was one of the very few friends I ever had in the tower, and the only one I tried to remain in contact with, afterwards."

"I am sorry, Anders," Sebastian said quietly.

Anders shrugged, smiled weakly. "It was long ago. The man who did it to him is long-dead as well. I guess I'm past the worst of it now."

Sebastian frowned. "You never truly get past such things," he said. "I doubt you are any more past it than I will ever truly be over the murder of my family. Things like that... they stay for you the rest of your life."

Anders nodded. "I suppose you're right. Well, let's talk about something more cheerful. When we were at the keep, Fenris mentioned that the dogs are trained to respond to different whistles. I suppose if I'm taking time to learn things like riding, I should probably take the time to learn things like that as well..."

Sebastian smiled. "A good thought. If we do go out in the field with the dogs at some point, your being able to properly direct them would be useful. And unlike mabaris you can't just tell them to go do something, not in regular speech anyway. But if you learn their whistles, you can."


	39. Further Gifts

Sebastian hadn't planned to take another trip out of the city so soon after their trip to the keep. But just over a month later, he found himself riding out again, Fenris and Anders behind him, a group of his mounted guards behind. Fenris had proven to be a natural horseman, and had quickly graduated from his original placid mare to a decent gelding, one of the spare remounts for Sebastian's guards. Anders had at least progressed as far as competency, and had finally been persuaded to part with the amiable Dolores and onto a horse that, while still lacking in spirit, could at least keep up with a pace greater than a fast walk for some reasonable length of time.

With the true winter fast approaching, and given Fenris' skill in particular, Sebastian had decided to move up something he'd originally been thinking could likely wait until spring – selecting them mounts of their own. Horses that would be kept in readiness in the castle stables for _their_ use alone.

And so this second trip out of the city; not far, just to the closest of the royal stud farms, where the Vaels had bred horses for the use of themselves and their guards and servants for generations. He was unsurprised to find himself looking forward to it; not least because it had always been one of his favourite places to visit when he was younger – an interest in horseflesh being one of his few acceptable and encouraged pastimes before he'd finally been shuffled off into the chantry's care.

He'd sent word ahead a few days ago, making arrangements for today's trip. He'd made some very specific requests about what sort of horses he was looking for, for the two men, and was hoping the stock at the farm would be able to supply just the sort of horses he wished for them. Of the two, Anders would likely be easiest to find suitable mounts for – something of a reasonably calm, even phlegmatic disposition, but able to keep up with the more spirited horses he and Fenris would be riding. For Fenris... he wanted something special. A horse suited to the level of ridership the elf was already beginning to demonstrate. Something with spirit. Something _special_.

There were only a few horses out in the paddocks along the laneway leading up to the main farm buildings today, most of them in their shaggy winter coats. Some raised their heads to watch the group ride by, but mostly the horses ignored them. Their approach had been noted – the farm manager and the senior staff were assembled in the yard to greet him, stable boys standing by to take their mounts.

After greetings had been exchanged they went on a tour of the stables, Sebastian smiling in pleasure as he inspected horses ranging from the massive cart and plow horses down to dainty things suitable for children. He was especially pleased to be shown a descendant of his own first horse, a charming little champagne filly. A pity there were currently no Vael children to claim such a lovely mount, at least not until his cousin Goren's brood came of age.

They moved on, then, to the indoor menage where they could meet the horses that had been selected as possible mounts for his companion.

"Let us deal with Anders' needs first," he said, gesturing the mage to his side, and introduced him to the stable master who was managing this part of their visit. "He's the rider I specified needed a calm mount, preferably one trained for the hunt, so it will not be spooked by having dogs close underfoot."

The stable master glanced at Anders' two dogs, both standing attentively at heel, and nodded. "We have an excellent selection of such available. I've selected those with the evenest dispositions, since you specified no other preferences. If none in this first group suit, I have two other groups you can look at, though these are the best of them all."

Sebastian nodded, and watched as grooms led in a group of mounts; five of them, all geldings, in a wide variety of coat colours and patterns. All stood calmly, none showing any sign of nerves at all – no pawing of the ground or shifting of weight. He signalled Anders to follow them and the two went over and walked along the line of them, Sebastian looking over each horse in turn. One mouse dun stepped back nervously when Ganwyn sniffed at its forelegs, and Sebastian quickly shook his head, dismissing that particular horse. After he'd inspected them all up close, he and Anders returned to the sidelines, and the stable master had each of the remaining horses lunged, showing off their paces. Sebastian was pleased with all of them.

"These four all seem equally excellent," he said, then glanced at Anders. "It will be your mount, Anders – go try riding each of them, and see if there's any of them that you particularly like."

"All right," Anders hesitantly agreed, and passed Ashes over into Sebastian's care, whistling to his dogs to remain where they were, before walking over to one end of the line of horses. He tried each horse in turn, looking a little nervous at first, but soon clearly enjoying himself.

He dismounted at last and walked back over. "I don't know... they all seemed nice," he said.

Sebastian smiled. "Try it again, but signal the dogs to follow. It will make a difference."

Anders nodded and did so. It certainly did make a difference in how the horses moved. Sebastian mentally removed another from the lineup when he saw how its hindquarters were bunching and tail whisking any time the two hounds passed too close to it; it was just the littlest bit nervous of them.

The mage was grinning as he rode the third horse, a buckskin with quite good movement, who seemed to almost be dancing with the dogs, he moved so smoothly as they ran alongside. Sebastian was unsurprised when the man expressed a preference for that mount. Of the remaining pair of mounts – a brown pinto and a red dun – Sebastian indicated they'd take the red dun as Anders' remount, more because of its similarity in coat colour to the buckskin than for any difference in ability between the two.

He waved Fenris over to his side next. The stable master looked him over with some degree of curiosity – elves were rare in Starkhaven, at least outside the alienage and away from the forested areas along the mountains to north and south. That this one was wearing armour and a sizable sword were also quite unusual.

"Your requirements for the next mount were more difficult to meet," the stable master said, almost apologetically. "I have three that I think may suit."

Sebastian nodded. The first was led out, a young liver chestnut stallion. He had quite an energetic action, snatching his hoofs up off the ground as it was hot, neck tightly arched. Fenris made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat, winning a slight smile from the stable master. Sebastian gestured the elf forward, knowing he had no need to look over the horse himself.

Fenris walked over and quickly looked over the slightly skittish horse, taking its rein from the groom and leading it around for a moment to look at how it moved before he finally swung up into the saddle, taking it on a couple of laps of the menage at varying paces.

"He rides reasonably well," the stable master said. "How long has he been riding?"

"One month," Sebastian said, letting a little smugness leak into his voice.

"Really? Hrmm. I see why you were so... specific in what you were looking for then," the stable master said, voice full of surprised approval, and he turned back to watch Fenris more closely.

Fenris finally dismounted, returning the horse to the groom, and walked back over to them. "Very nice," he said.

Sebastian nodded. The second horse was brought out, a showy gelding of purest black. He was not as tightly wound as the stallion has been, but had equally nice paces. Smoother, if anything, and Fenris was smiling broadly when he dismounted.

"We'll certainly be taking the black," Sebastian said. "Though whether as mount or remount... let's see the third horse, then."

The stable master nodded, eyes crinkling just slightly with amusement. Sebastian turned to watch Fenris as the third horse was led out. He'd given instructions to leave this particular mount for last, if they had one of suitable spirit...

He knew the moment it came into view, the elf abruptly straightening, then freezing, eyes wide with surprise and appreciation. He sucked in air through his teeth, and unconsciously took a half-step forwards, eyes still glued on the horse.

Sebastian turned then, knowing from Fenris' reaction that they had indeed found what he'd requested. It took even his breath away though, the majestic stallion being led in. Bigger than either of the previous two mounts by at least a hand in height, it walked with stately grace into the menage. A silver dapple, its coat was a mottled grey shading darker on legs and nose, with mane and tail a froth of creamy-white hairs.

Fenris walked over to it without being prompted, fingers curving almost reverently over its soft nose, before reaching up to touch the pale forelock, the horse turning its head to nose briefly at Fenris' own white hair.

"By the Maker!" Anders breathed softly. "That is a _horse_."

"Aye, and don't they look fine together," Sebastian said smugly, "Like a matched set."

Fenris took the reins from the groom and swung up into the saddle. He leaned forward a moment, touching the horse's neck, its ear swivelling back toward him as if listening to him say something. The two were still for a moment longer, then he settled back and the horse moved smoothly into motion. The elf sat the horse as surely as if they were one creature, not two, as they did several laps of the menage. Sebastian grinned at the expression on Fenris' face. Finally the elf guided the horse over to where the men stood watching.

"This one," he said decisively.

Sebastian nodded, only realizing he was still grinning as he noticed the ache in his cheeks as the elf swung down out of the saddle, holding the horse's head between his hands for a long moment before reluctantly passing the reins back to a groom.

"What's his name?" Fenris asked, watching the horse being led away, standing leaning forward slightly as if wanting to break into motion and follow after it.

"Arianblaidd," the stable master answered. "or Ari for short. And the black is Aerynos, or Aer."

"And what about my two?" Anders asked curiously.

"Mabaur for the buckskin, and Pert for the red dun," the stable master supplied.

"Fine beasts all four," Sebastian said approvingly. "My thanks for your help today. Especially for Arianblaidd – he exceeded my hopes, if anything."

The stable master grinned, looking pleased, then nodded in farewell. They left the menage, heading over to the main building of the farm to join the staff at lunch. Sebastian spent most of the meal in conversation with the farm manager, discussing lines and what mares were being put to what stallions and so forth until it was time to leave.

Ari and Mab were with Sebastian's sorrel gelding when they emerged after the meal to head back to the castle, their remounts and the pair they'd ridden here on lead lines back among the waiting guards. Sebastian said a few more words of approval and gratitude, then they mounted up and headed back.

Fenris was silent most of the way back, though Sebastian noticed him breaking into a smile more than once as he rode. It was only as they neared the city walls again that he kneed Ari closer to Sebastian's side. "Thank you," he said, almost shyly. "He is far more valuable a gift than I should accept, but..." he stopped, and smiled again, looking delightedly at the horse he was riding. "Just... thank you."

Sebastian grinned again. "You're very welcome."


	40. Improvements

Fenris walked into the prince's apartment. Sebastian was sitting at the table already, just serving himself dinner. He looked up, and smiled. "You've been out riding Ari again."

"How can you tell?" Fenris asked, surprised.

Sebastian grinned. "The smile on your face. You're always smiling after riding," he explained, then his grin widened further. "And the smell of horse is a bit of a giveaway, too."

"The sme... oh," Fenris looked nonplused for a moment. "Hrmm. I suppose I should make a habit of washing after riding."

Sebastian shrugged. "The scent of horses doesn't bother me, though I know it's not to everyone's taste."

"Nevertheless, I will wash in future," the elf said gravely, as he moved to take his own seat and serve himself.

They ate in silence for some little while. Finally Sebastian paused and looked over at Fenris. "I would speak to you of Anders."

"What of him?" Fenris asked curiously, looking up.

"I am... concerned, still, over his well-being. He seems more content lately, but I cannot know if that is merely because he is in my presence, or if he has begun to heal at all from his dependance on me."

Fenris frowned thoughtfully and leaned back in his seat. "I agree that he is more content. I would even go so far as to say, more stable. It has been a while since I last saw him begin to get anxious about your absence, but on the other hand he has seen you pretty well daily now for a while, so he has had little cause to _feel_ anxious. The only true test will be if circumstances keep you apart for several days, but... I would hesitate to suggest that you purposefully do so. I think the longer it is before he has some reason to worry about your absence, the less likely he is to actually become worried."

"How so?" Sebastian asked interestedly.

"I would hope that after a sufficiently long period of feeling calm, he will find it more natural to remain calm than to begin to fear. I... cannot be certain, of course."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "That sounds... logical, to me. Well, we will continue as we have been, and hope for further improvement. Speaking of continuing as we have been, how are your and his discussions going?"

"Surprisingly well. Anders has told me a considerable amount about his own experience in the Circle of Magi, as well as anecdotes other mages told him over his years in the mage underground in Kirkwall," Fenris said, then frowned. "It is... rarely pleasant hearing. The mages involved in such activities were often those who had a particular reason to be so involved – had experienced something, seen something, that made them feel that escape or rebellion were truly the only possible things they could do. I..." he paused, and was quiet for a long moment before continuing. "I see many parallels now, between the experiences of many mages within the system of chantry-controlled circles, and what slaves in Tevinter experience. In both systems, people are subjugated for what is claimed to be the 'greater good' and are all too frequently the subjects of abuse. Anders and I agree that both systems are unbalanced and unjust."

Sebastian nodded. "And have you two had any thoughts about man and mages living peacefully?"

"A few. No... overall solution, not as of yet, but little things that might help. One of the largest problems faced by mages outside Tevinter is the fear they are held in by so many. It is _fear_ that drives the chantry to confine mages, fear that is the excuse behind many of the worst abuses. More, it is fear that most commonly drives mages to give up, to give in to demons and become abominations – fear, despair, loneliness, anger, all such negative emotions are strongly attractive to the demons of pride, sloth, hunger, desire and rage."

"So you believe we need to lessen the fear, I take it? As well as the other emotions?"

"Yes. Men often fear things that are unfamiliar, things that they do not understand, things that are powerful and seemingly uncontrollable – earthquakes, the great predators, plagues... magic. With mages mainly locked away in towers, out of the sight of men, how can they come to know that magic is controllable, that it can be of use, that it is only sometimes something to be feared? A man living alongside a mage would hopefully come to see that the magic is no more to be feared than... than the flow of water down the Minanter – a natural phenomenon, and only to be frightened of if something triggers a flood. There are many benign uses for magic, as there are many benign uses for a river and its water. And not just things like Anders' healing magic, which is one of its more obviously practical applications. There are many other things that magic can be used for, other than healing or battle magics."

"Such as?"

"You are aware, I'm sure, of the system of Imperial Highways that stitches together much of Thedas?"

"Of course. Remnants of the old Imperium, before its fall. I know there is a stretch of it to the west of here, from Cumberland up north into Tevinter, though the sections between Nevarra and Tevinter have been largely allowed to go to ruin to prevent the Imperium from easily using it as an invasion route...no such highway was ever built this far east, as the Minanter serves more than adequately for travel through these lands."

Fenris nodded. "Yes. In this age, the road takes maintenance by men to maintain it. Even in Tevinter, the labour to maintain and occasionally extend the road system is done by slave labour these days. But it was not always so – when the road system was first built, it was _mages_ that did much of the work, not just preparing the land for where the road would run, but forming and setting the very stones that made up the structure, able to do in mere weeks work that would have taken men and dwarves months to duplicate. And magic helped to render the road largely immune to the effects of weather and land movement – very little maintenance was ever required, and then only following great upheavals. Such beneficial magics have largely fallen out of fashion in the Imperium now – the magisters would rather horde their powers for selfish means than use them for the good of all. I know record of how such magics were done still exists in tomes within Tevinter itself, I can recall Danarius and another magister discussing them once in relation to some pet project of theirs. Doubtless there is still a record of them outside of Tevinter as well, if only the right books can be found."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "I am not entirely sure how such magics might be of use to us here..." he said slowly. "We have the Minanter, as I mentioned earlier..."

Fenris nodded. "Yes. The highways themselves may not be of any use to you, though I would imagine a more direct route from Starkhaven to, say, the ports at Kirkwall or Ostwick, might be of use in trade to the south, especially with the current unrest and destruction in the downriver ports of the Minanter. Or northeast into Antiva, for much the same reason. But the magics can be turned to other purposes than roads. For what is a raised roadway, if you fill in the arches underneath it, but a defensive wall? Digging ditches and sewers, dredging shallows, raising defensive keeps, other projects that would otherwise require vast numbers of men, the movement of considerable material, and long periods of time – all could be achieved more quickly and easily with magic to aid in the labour."

"As you so often do, you have given me much to think of," Sebastian said slowly. "I will consider what you have said; especially given how unsettled the times are, the ability to quickly raise or reinforce walls could be invaluable."

Fenris nodded. "Speaking of unsettled times, have you heard the latest word out of Kirkwall?"

"Nothing in the last few days... did you hear something while you were out?"

"Yes, there's a rumour circulating that Aveline is now the Viscount of Kirkwall – though I have heard conflicting reports so far on whether she named herself such, or was so named by others, but so far most seem to agree that in either case it is a wise move."

Sebastian nodded. "I would tend to agree, and shall hope it is true – she has long shown her dedication to protecting the city and its people; I cannot imagine her doing any less fine a job as Viscount than she always tried to do as Captain of the Guard."

Fenris nodded in agreement.


	41. More Refugees

Sebastian, Anders and Fenris were lunching together the next day when word of another impending crisis reached them. Cerin himself came to interrupt the Prince at lunch and let him know that a patrol had just returned from the west with word of a large group of refugees travelling toward Starkhaven on foot, and escorting a representative from them.

"It's a templar – he said he knew you back in Kirkwall," The Guard-Captain continued. "One Knight-Captain Cullen, by name."

"Cullen!" Sebastian exclaimed, and grinned. "Aye, I knew the man – a fine templar, and a decent man. See he is given a chance to rest and eat, if need be, and then bring him to my office."

He glanced at Anders and Fenris. "I'll want you two there as well," he said.

Anders looked a little nervous at the prospect, but Fenris nodded amiably enough . They quickly finished their own meal, and moved to Sebastian's office – not his private study in his apartments, but a larger, more formal office near the throne room – where Cerin soon appeared with a tired-looking Cullen in tow.

Sebastian rose to his feet and greeted the templar warmly. Cullen and Fenris exchanged nods of recognition, then he noticed Anders. He froze for a moment, then slowly nodded to him as well. "I had heard some time ago that the apostate was here," he said, turning to look at Sebastian, voice cool. "Though given what I know of your feelings toward him after that last day in Kirkwall, I have always assumed you had good reason for sparing his life."

"Oh? Heard how?" Sebastian asked, gesturing both Cullen and Cerin to take a seat as he resumed his own.

"From a seeker who passed through Cumberland while I was there."

"Seeker Reynard?" Sebastian asked sharply.

"Yes. When I withdrew with my men and the surviving mages from Kirkwall, we had originally headed to the circle at Cumberland. I had hoped to leave my charges there, but with a war brewing with Orlais..."

"A war with Orlais? I have heard nothing of this yet," Sebastian said, frowning.

"It has been brewing for some years. Orlais has wished to take back the Blighted Hills ever since Nevarra won their last little wrestling match over them. Apparently they've been funding rebels in the Perendale area – that was long an Orlesian city, before Nevarra claimed it. Between old loyalties and resentment over a rather punitive tax the Pentaghast's had levied on the area to recoup some of the costs of the campaign to seize it in the first place, well, Orlais found plenty of takers. No one doubts that Orlais will take advantage of all the recent turmoil to try and take a sizable bite out of Nevarra.."

"Anyway, I thought a potential war zone was not a good place to leave my charges, even if there'd been sufficient room for them in the tower there, which there was not. Oh, they took in a handful of mages who could claim some connections there, but I still had most of my charges to deal with. After discussion of possible destinations, most of them requested to go to Ferelden – I don't know if you've heard, but King Alistair has placed the Circle there under his formal protection in thanks for the mage's role in combating the blight. And the Circle there is still quite underpopulated since the mage rebellion, so they have plenty of room for mage-born refugees."

Sebastian nodded. "I had heard about that when we were still back in Kirkwall, that the Circle was under his protection anyway. So most of your charges went to Ferelden?"

Cullen nodded. "Yes, apart from some whose ties to the Free Marches are strong enough that they had no wish to leave. And I had no wish to return to Ferelden, either," he said softly. "Having been there in the Circle during Uldred's rebellion, I have... poor memories of the place. So I stayed with the remnant of the Kirkwall mages and we started north, hoping to find places for them in the circle at Nevarra City itself. But when we reached where the Imperial Highway crosses the Minanter, meaning to take ship upriver from there to the city, we heard word that Nevarra now faces war on two borders, not one – the Tevinter Imperium has been trying their northern border again. So we took ship down the Minanter instead, meaning to head to the towers at Ansburg or Ostwick. We got as far as Tantervale, before we heard word of recent events in Ansburg."

Sebastian nodded in understanding. "What then?"

"We stayed in Tantervale for a while, debating whether to continue downriver anyway, or try to head cross-country to the south and back to Kirkwall, in hopes that the situation there was more stable. Things were beginning to get tense there – not having a circle of their own, and with what had happened in Ansburg, the city was unhappy about our continued presence, even though by then we numbered more templars than actual mages," he explained with a frown.

"Eventually we heard word that you had accepted the mages from Ansburg here, so the Lord Chancellor and chantry in Tantervale asked us to take both our own mages, and a number of apostates that had been captured in their area of late that they had been holding, waiting to send to any circle that could take them, and bring them here. That was when the first refugees from Nevarra began arriving – people fleeing ahead of the threat of war with Tevinter, mainly. Hearing that our party would be continuing this direction, some of them decided to come further east under our protection rather than remaining in Tantervale. So I have a mixed group of templars, mages, and refugees that are all seeking safety here – they would be about three days away now, at least judging by the progress we were making up until we encountered your patrol and I rode on ahead with your men."

"How many of each group?" Fenris asked.

Cullen glanced his way. "Eighteen templars and eleven mages from Kirkwall, five more mages we picked up in Tantervale, and over forty Nevarran refugees. You may see more of those after us; Tantervale was already talking about whether they might need to close their gates to such," he explained, frowning. "They have little ability to take in many more people, especially with winter closing upon us."

Sebastian nodded. "We have more than enough room for the numbers you bring. And more besides, if indeed further refugees make it this far. Is your party under a capable lieutenant, or will you wish to hurry back and rejoin them?"

"My lieutenant is quite capable, yes," Cullen agreed.

"Good. Then I suggest you rest the remainder of today, and tomorrow we can ride south so you can meet the Ansburg Knight-Commander," he said. "We can be there and back again well before your party reaches here."

Cullen nodded. "That sounds more than acceptable."

Sebastian looked at his two companions. "Fenris, I assume you would enjoy the excuse for a long ride?"

Fenris nodded, smiling slightly.

"Anders, is the clinic busy? I would prefer you accompany us as well..."

"Not noticeably busy, no, but I should let Dugall and Sister Maura know that we have more refugees coming. But I can do that this afternoon, once we're done here," he said, then looked uneasily at Cullen. "You'd started to tell us something about meeting Seeker Reynard, before getting sidetracked into the tale of all your travels?"

"Ah, yes, I am very interested in hearing more about _him_ , considering his criminal activities when he was in Starkhaven some time ago," Sebastian said, face going grim.

Cullen nodded. "I didn't meet him directly, though the Knight-Commander of Cumberland later called me in to ask my opinion on what he'd been told by the man, seeing as I'd known both you and Anders in Kirkwall."

"And that would be...?"

"He said that he had approached you to turn over the apostate to him, to bring back to Val Royeaux for judgement and punishment by the chantry there for Anders' crimes in Kirkwall, that you had refused him and killed his men, and then ejected him from Starkhaven. He said he wasn't sure if you were the mage's lover or under his control, but that in either case he was heading back to Val Royeaux to see the Divine and request a larger force of templars with which to attempt the arrest a second time."

Sebastian's face clouded with anger. "That is not, in fact, what actually happened... but I will explain the true events to you later. Go on."

Cullen nodded. "I told the Knight-Commander that you were a good and honourable man, and had been a brother in the chantry, and that if you were indeed holding the mage and refusing to turn him over, doubtless you had good reasons for doing so. And the Knight-Commander and I both found it interesting that the man, while claiming to be on his way to see the Divine, took ship from Cumberland not for Val Royeaux, but for Jader."

"Jader! That's the wrong side of the Waking Sea entirely," Sebastian exclaimed. "What could he be heading there for?" he said, perplexed, and looked at the others to see if they had suggestions. Fenris shrugged, and Anders shook his head, both looking equally puzzled.

Guard-Captain Cerin frowned, then coughed. "Perhaps he's heading to Lydes?"

"Lydes... of course, I had forgotten! The largest templar establishment in all of Orlais is there," Cullen explained. "If he's looking to gather a sizable force of templars, that would certainly be a good place to head."

Sebastian frowned. "Wonderful. So as well as refugees, we might well be facing another attempt by Reynard to snatch Anders. Well, it could be worse, I suppose," he said, and gave a twisted smile. "At least it's not a Divine March. But come, let us retire to somewhere we can sit in more comfort, with drinks to hand, and I'll tell you what really happened when Seeker Reynard passed through Starkhaven," he suggested to Cullen.

"If you don't mind, I'll sit this one out," Anders said. "I should go by the clinic anyway."

"Of course. You'll be ready for another trip to the circle keep tomorrow?" Sebastian asked as they all rose to their feet.

"Yes, I'll be ready," Anders said resignedly, hands clutching tightly on Ashes' fur for a moment.

"Good. See you tomorrow morning then."

Anders nodded and headed off, his guards falling in behind him at the door. Cullen watched him walk away with obvious curiosity.

"It's a long story," Sebastian told Cullen quietly. "But I'll tell you that as well – how Anders came to be my prisoner."

"I look forward to it," Cullen said, as he followed Sebastian and Fenris away.


	42. Seeds and Small Steps

Anders checked for a third time that Ashes was comfortably curled up in the bag slung across his chest, then finally mounted his horse. Sebastian and Cullen were already mounted, their horses standing side-by-side while the two talked quietly together. Fenris was still communing with Ari, elf and horse standing nose-to-nose, the warrior murmuring something to the stallion. Sebastian looked around, saw that everyone else was already mounted and waiting, and pointedly cleared his throat. Fenris shot him a slightly embarrassed look and finally moved to mount.

Everyone, including Sebastian's guards, were mounted, with remounts on lead reins. Without being slowed by carts or foot-soldiers as they had been on their previous trip to the keep, they should be there around noon, instead of later afternoon. Their pace leaving the city was still a sedate walk, but as soon as they'd left the city itself their pace picked up considerably.

Anders concentrated on staying on Mab's broad back, eventually feeling confident enough to look around. Haelioni and Ganwyn were running in the long grasses alongside the road, both looking pleased to be outside and moving fast. He'd worried about their ability to keep up on a long run, but Sebastian had assured him that they'd be varying their pace enough over the journey that the dogs would have no problem. And sure enough after a while they slowed and moved along at a walk for a while before picking up the pace again, the varied speed giving the horses and dogs a chance to catch their breaths and rest a little. They were halfway to the tower by mid-morning, at which point they took a rest break, and switched off to their remounts.

Fenris changed his own tack from Ari to Aer without difficult, handling the heavy saddle with the same careless ease that he used in slinging his massive sword around, but Anders had to have help from one of the guards. He coloured a little, feeling embarrassed at his inability to do anything more useful than stand there holding the horse's reins while someone else sorted out all the buckles and straps and made sure the girth was properly tightened, about the only thing he _did_ know how to do for himself.

Then they were underway again, Ashes' head poking out of the bag across his chest to look around, the dogs running energetically alongside, the weather a little cold but that was okay since it wasn't a bitter cold. And he was vaguely surprised to realize he was enjoying himself, actually _enjoying_ the day, even though every step of their mounts was bringing them all closer to a place he'd hoped to never have to visit again.

_This_ , he thought. This was what freedom felt like. Just like this, this being... part of the group, _accepted_ , going somewhere with people who were more-or-less friends, even if Sebastian was technically his jailor and Fenris was someone he knew would kill him without a second thought if he thought it needed doing. He'd _had_ this before, for a brief while among the Grey Warden, at least until Soria had left and things had gotten scary. More, he could have had this in Kirkwall, with Hawke and his group, had it not been for Justice inside of him and how they'd kept people distant, everyone except Hawke, and Justice had only allowed Anders to have Hawke once he realized Anders was going crazy with his lack of friendship, companionship, _connection_. And even then complained bitterly about what a distraction Hawke was from their ultimate goal, the freedom of mages.

Not that it was necessarily _bad_ that they'd wanted to give freedom to mages, but... they certainly hadn't gone about it the right way. Oh, true, his work with the mage underground had helped save a number of mages over the years – but was life on the run, as wanted apostates, really any more freedom than they'd have had within the confines of the circle? True, in many cases it had been a choice between apostasy and death, or worse... but while it had saved their lives, had any of them really obtained true freedom by fleeing?

He'd thought so then. He wasn't so sure now. He thought about Hawke's stories of his life as the child and sibling of apostate mages. Of his own experiences as an apostate. Of the constricted, frightened lives of most of the apostates he'd ever known. They'd been free, yes... but he didn't think that what they'd had was real freedom. Not when they had to fear every chance-met stranger, every trip into town to buy food or clothing. When they had to fear that _any_ use of magic, no matter how minor, might bring templars and the full might might of the chantry swooping down on them. They'd merely traded one cage for another, larger one, the bars harder to see maybe, but still there.

And that was why what he and Fenris were working on was so important, so _vital_. Because it offered a chance, however slim, to remove those bars forever, so that some day in the future, it would be natural for a mage like him to have real friends like these and live among them, work with them, and it be accepted. It be _normal_.

And it was unlikely to happen in his lifetime.

A bitter thought. Yet... oddly freeing. He realized, now, just how wrong he and Justice had gone – they'd tried to find an immediate solution to a problem that had taken centuries to develop, and had all the inertia of those centuries of tradition, of ingrained _fear_ , behind it. They'd tried to force a fast solution to the problem, and in truth there _was_ no fast solution for it. With luck, with a great deal of luck, he and Fenris and Sebastian might begin something here in Starkhaven that would work, plant a seed that would in time spread, as the Andrastian religion itself had spread. Slow change, but _necessary_ change.

He heard Sebastian call out something, and looked up to find they were approaching the gates of the keep already, the Prince waving to the templars on the wall over the open gate. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts the second half of the trip had passed without him even noticing. He looked thoughtfully at the templars out in the courtyard, a pair of mages outside as well, surprisingly enough, working at some task. They'd probably have to be part of it too, he found himself thinking. Templars like these ones, who'd seen their duty as protection of their charges, not punishment of them.

As he moved to dismount he paused suddenly, something about the two mages and the templars around them piquing his interest.

* * *

Fenris was watching Anders, vaguely worried over how he'd react to being back here again, surrounded by templars. He saw Anders pause, then blithely dismount, curiously watching a group of men working together on some project at the other side of the courtyard. The mage was scratching Ashes' chin, but otherwise seemed... quite well. Unphased by the near presence of so many templars, if anything he looked _interested_ in them.

He glanced over at Sebastian. The Prince was already in conversation with both Cullen and Lawrence. Sebastian met Fenris' eyes, and flicked a look sideways at Anders. Fenris gave a single, short nod and moved a few steps closer to Anders, silent agreement that he'd stay close to him while they were there. Sebastian gave him a flash of a smile, then turned his full attention back to Cullen and Lawrence, the three men soon moving toward the keep doors, obviously intent on going inside to find some place more comfortable to talk.

Anders, Fenris was intrigued to notice, didn't even seem to be aware of Sebastian's departure. He moved close to the mage, looked back and forth from the mage to the group of men he was watching. Fenris turned and watched them too, wondering what had the mage so interested. Several templars and a pair of mages, working together on something... building a low wall around an old well, by the look of it, then he caught the shimmer of magic around one mage's hands and saw a stone rise out of the well into his hands. Ah. The old walls had fallen into the well at some point; they were clearing the stones and piling them up, likely to be used to rebuild the wall later, he supposed.

"Anders?" he asked curiously after a few minutes. "What are we looking at?"

A ghost of a smile crossed the man's face. "The future," he said, softly.

Fenris turned and looked again at the men working together, then slowly nodded. "We did discuss something like this, didn't we," he said quietly. "Man and mage working together for the benefit of both."

"Yes," Anders said, and finally turned away to look at Fenris, grinning. "We did. And look – it _can_ be done. We just need to figure out how to get something like _that_ ," – he nodded his head toward the oblivious group – "to work on a larger scale."

Fenris nodded slowly. "It is at least a small step in the right direction," he agreed .

Anders smiled cheerfully. "Enough small steps can add up to a very long journey," he said, then glanced around, finally noticing the absence of Sebastian. "Where...?"

"Off talking with the Knight-Captain and the Knight-Commander. Shall we go join them?"

"No, not just yet," Anders said decisively. "While we're here anyway, let's talk to some of the templars and mages. I am... very curious, suddenly, about how well they've learned to co-operate with each other since leaving Ansburg. And we might as well start with _them_ ," he said, nodding towards the mixed group.

Fenris nodded, and trailed along behind the mage as he set off across the courtyard at a determined pace.


	43. Winter Finery

It had clouded over while he was in conference with Cullen and Lawrence, Sebastian noted as they stepped out of the keep. "Feels like snow," he remarked.

Anders, who'd been unusually quiet since he and Fenris had finally rejoined Sebastian, looked up at the sky as well. "So it does," he agreed.

Cullen was also looking up. "Will it be a staying snow or just a temporary covering?" he asked.

Sebastian shrugged, and started down the stairs to where his guard and their horses were already waiting. "Likely not staying, the first real snowfall rarely is. But once the snowfall does start here, it tends to start in earnest – we'll be seeing heavy snows for a month, maybe two, and then it will all go away again and we'll have the spring rains starting."

"A short winter," Anders said. "Compared to Ferelden, anyway."

Cullen nodded in agreement. Fenris made a disgruntled noise.

"Do you not like snow then, Fenris?" Sebastian asked as he swung up into his saddle.

"No," Fenris said shortly, as he mounted as well. "You forget I am originally from Seheron and Minrathous; I never saw snow until after I fled to Kirkwall."

"I thought you said Danarius had brought you to Kirkwall before? You certainly seemed familiar enough with his mansion the first time we went there," Anders pointed out.

Fenris made a face as they rode out of the gate, Sebastian waving farewell to the templars just as he'd waved in greeting a few hours earlier. "Only once, and that was in summer – we came to escape the heat in Tevinter, it being a particularly hot summer that year. Danarius no more liked the cold than I do."

"Perhaps if you'd wear something warmer than that armour, it might feel better," Anders pointed out. "Armour designed for a subtropical climate is poor protection in a more temperate one."

Fenris snorted. "I am used to this armour. I fight best in it."

Sebastian laughed. "I would not have you freeze, my friend. At least try one of the other sets I had made for you. The set in the colours of my guards is at least of thicker leather and should be warmer, and the one in my own colours should be nearly as warm as my own, apart from the arms."

"What's this?" Anders asked, curiously. "You gave him sets of armour and he won't wear them?"

Fenris scowled. "Not gifts. Payment for my services."

Anders grinned. "Stubborn as always. Though now I'm very curious to see you in the other sets," he said, then frowned in thought. "Your own colours, Sebastian? Does that mean..."

"Yes, white and gold," Fenris snapped.

Sebastian smiled. "And black, and silver. It is a good warm set. Come, Fenris, it would please me to see you making use of the armour. And think how well you will look on Ari. I should have a cloak made for you as well, a proper riding one with a good warm mantle and a hood. You as well, Anders – if we are out and about much this winter, you will both need one."

"I'm going to hope I don't need one, if you don't mind," Anders said with a small smile. "I rather like snow, but only as long as I don't have to be out in it for long."

Sebastian laughed. "Rather be inside by the fire?"

"Yes. With a good book and a glass of something warm, warming, or both."

"Mulled cider," Cullen said decisively. "I think that's one of the few things I miss about Ferelden. Mulled cider after coming in from patrol on cold winter days."

Sebastian laughed again. "I'll order some made for all of us when we get back to the castle, how does that sound?"

"Delicious," Anders said. "Look, here comes the snow."

It was big fat flakes, just a few at first, but quickly increasing, soon dusting the ground in white. Haelioni and Ganwyn seemed to enjoy the snow, the younger dog romping around snapping at flakes, briefly luring Haelioni into chasing him around. Ashes, on the other hand, didn't appear to approve at all, and retreated into his bag for a nap.

By the time the city walls finally came into sight through the increasingly heavy snowfall there was at least an inch on the ground, loose and powdery. They were all relieved to get back to the castle, where Sebastian fulfilled his promise of mulled cider, the four of them gathering in his apartment for it, with more sent off to the barracks of the guards that had accompanied them.

Cullen sighed in obvious pleasure as he sipped his cider. "I feel guilty being so comfortable when my men and the people they're escorting here are doubtless considerably more uncomfortable at the moment," he said.

Sebastian smiled. "They'll be here soon enough – and at least it's neither windy nor bitterly cold. Or raining – a little dry snow is much preferable to the cold rains we get in early winter."

Cullen made a face. "Yes, we found that out our first few days out of Tantervale – we had rather more experience of cold rain than any of us really wanted. You're right, this little amount of snow so far shouldn't cause them any real problems."

Sebastian nodded. "Once they arrive here, we'll give your men and mages a day or two to rest, and then they can travel down to the keep. Will you be staying around for a while after that, or setting out again immediately?"

"Setting out again?" Anders asked, perplexed.

"That's right, you and Fenris weren't there when we were discussing that part of things with the Knight-Commander, Sebastian said. "Our circle here already has more than enough templars to guard the mages currently in their care, even after Cullen's charges are added to them. But there are likely other mages out there in need of protection, like the apostates they've brought here from Tantervale."

"Knight-Commander Lawrence and I will combine our men, and then I'll take a group of volunteers and travel down the Minanter and back up again, collecting any mages we find who are in need of safety, and bring them back here," Cullen explained. "I know they won't necessarily all be as willing to come here as our Kirkwall mages were – our charges came here by choice, not because they'd been captured and forced to do so. But far better to be brought here to decent care and safety than to be left to languish in town jails, or face mob justice at the hands of frightened people."

Anders nodded slow agreement. "I... cannot fault that logic," he agreed, a touch unhappily. Part of him believed that mages who's one their freedom – such as it was – once already should be allowed to keep it, if they so chose. And yet, Sebastian and Cullen were right – something must be done to help mages who were otherwise at risk. Because of him. Because of what he'd done in Kirkwall, that had so badly frightened people who had been taught all their lives that mages were something to _fear_.

Because his actions in Kirkwall had proven that those fears were correct. That mundane man had _reason_ to fear mages. Not the outcome he'd wanted, or that he and Justice had imagined. But it was what they'd done, nevertheless.

He found himself wondering how the two of them could have been so blind to the probable consequences of their actions. The only conclusion he could come to – a dreadful, shameful one – was that the two of them had been purposefully deluding themselves, _wanting_ to believe that their plan was the grand gesture they wanted it to be, that it would be a rallying call for mage freedom. Or that Justice, as ignorant of humans as he was, had not been able to see what the likely outcome would be, and that he himself had _refused_ to see.

"Anders?" Sebastian's voice, sounding concerned.

He looked up. "Sorry, I was... thinking. What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted any more mulled cider," Sebastian said, sounding faintly amused.

"Oh. Yes, please."

* * *

It had, Sebastian judged, been an altogether successful and eventful week, even if the news that had started it – more refugees on the way, and Cullen's tale of Seeker Reynard – had been worrisome. But the trip to the keep and back had been an enjoyable ride, and Fenris and Anders had apparently found themselves with much food for thought after talking with a number of the mages and templars there during their brief stay. Then Cullen's party turned out to have made good time, despite the snow, and arrived late the next day instead of some time the day after as had been expected.

The refugees from Nevarra were absorbed into the camps without significant incident, the templars and mages temporarily house in an old barracks at the castle for a few days to rest, and wait for a day of good weather before pressing on to join their compatriots at the circle keep. Anders and Fenris had taken advantage of their presence to spend some time in discussions with some of the mages and templars, and were both looking pleased as a result of the interviews.

Sebastian himself had been pleased to greet the templars, a number of whom he recognized from his years in Kirkwall, including Cullen's lieutenant, Ser Keran, who he knew had been involved in some of Hawke's adventures over the years. He congratulated Keran on the speed with which he'd managed to keep his mixed lot of people moving in the inclement conditions.

As snow continued to fall over the next few days, Sebastian found himself thinking it was a good thing in several ways that Anders had stumbled upon the hidden staircase; it prevented a lengthy trip through the snow when the mage came to join Fenris and himself daily at lunch. Though at least Anders was well-equipped for the snow now, Sebastian having already made good on his promise of warm cloaks for the pair. For Anders he'd had a cloak made in a deep brown wool, the mantle and hood edged in red fox, while for Fenris he'd selected a charcoal grey wool, trimmed with grey wolf.

Then he had successfully wheedled the warrior into wearing it with the set of armour in Sebastian's own colours the next time they attended chantry services together; the effect had been everything he'd hoped it would be, the elf looking almost as princely as Sebastian himself did. Anders had joked about being outshone by the pair of them, but Sebastian privately thought his more sedate brown and red outfit brought out the paleness of his skin and the red-gold of his hair in as nearly as striking a way as the greys, white and gold set off Fenris' darker good looks.

Fenris had actually smiled in pleasure over his finery, and joked about how no one was going to be paying any attention to Sebastian with the two of them in attendance on him. Then Sebastian produced his own cloak, a striking confection of black wool and white fox lined with white rabbit, and Anders had laughed and declared that perhaps Sebastian would still draw the eye more than them after all. Sebastian had been pleased with the picture the three of them made, walking together to the chantry.

The service at the chantry had been particularly well-attended that week, the templars and all of their mage-born charges forming a solid and extremely well-behaved block near the rear of the chantry, there to give thanks to the Maker for their safe arrival in Starkhaven after their lengthy wanderings. A good number of the Nevarran refugees were also there, in a less well-ordered but equally fervent group.

Then the following day the weather, which had been increasingly cold and prone to snow since the day of the trip, finally changed to brilliant sunlight. The mages and templars moved on to the circle keep immediately, accompanied by a couple cartloads of additional supplies for the keep, taking advantage of the good weather. A good thing they did, too – the very next day had seen the first blizzard of the year. That first snowfall on the way back from the keep had turned out to be staying snow after all, the weather never having warmed enough for it to melt, and now buried deeply under subsequent snowfalls.

The real winter was here. Sebastian hoped there weren't more refugees still out on the roads trying to reach Starkhaven; it was a bad time of year for travelling.


	44. News From Kirkwall

Sebastian heard a bark, and stepped over to look out the nearby window. Anders was crossing the snow-draped garden toward his cottage, Ganwyn romping around his feet in greeting. Just back from another morning at the clinic, he supposed. He wondered for a moment where Ashes was, then saw the cat's head peering over the mage's shoulder – the cat was riding in the hood of his cloak. Sebastian snorted in amusement, then turned away again, moving to his wardrobe to change out of the uncomfortable finery he'd worn for a meeting with some of the guildmasters this morning, and into something more suitable for lunch with his friends.

Friends. He'd long thought of Fenris as one, of course, but he'd never have imagined he'd be thinking of _Anders_ as a friend. Yet he'd recently realized just how rarely he ever thought of the mage as 'the apostate', or 'my prisoner' any more. How much he'd come to enjoy the time he spent in the man's company most days, when the three of them lunched together, their separate activities permitting. Anders was still much quieter than he'd been back in Kirkwall, but it was no longer the quietness of someone who was withdrawn and frightened, as it had been for so long. Now it was the quietness of someone who was content to sit back and listen to Sebastian and Fenris' wide-ranging discussions, to only speak when he felt he had something useful or amusing to contribute to the conversation. The quietness of someone busy _thinking_.

The last time he'd spoken with Fenris about the mage, the elf had been cautiously optimistic about Anders' recovery; he was certain Anders _was_ recovering – even Sebastian could see that by now, in the man's increased self-assurance if nothing else – the only real question was how well he would hold up in the face of any further shocks.

He looked out the window a second time, smiling as he saw Anders had stopped in the garden and was throwing snowballs for Ganwyn to chase, the deerhound displaying his usual exuberant approach to anything remotely like playing. He watched for a minute, then turned away and headed off to his study. It was still at least half an hour until lunch; he might as well get a little work done.

Sitting down at his desk he spotted a sheaf of crumpled parchments. More discards from Anders' desk. These days it was mostly writing – the rough drafts of the notes he was taking about his and Fenris' discussions about Tevinter. He quickly sorted through the pile, and was pleased to find a couple pages of drawings at the very bottom of it. Still mostly drawings of Ashes, Ganwyn and Haelioni, along with several studies of Fenris, mostly just his head and shoulders, sometimes including some of the upper body. Talking, thinking about something with his head tilted to one said, frowning angrily, smiling, even one of him laughing about something.

That made Sebastian smile in turn. Fenris did seem more inclined to smiles and even occasional laughter here in Starkhaven than he could ever recall the elf being back in Kirkwall. He took that as a good sign, that with his old master dead the elf was moving on with his life, no longer as given to anger and brooding dark moods as he'd been when the central tenet of his life had been _fear_ , his worry that Danarius would recapture him, his anger that fleeing the man had not in itself been enough to make him free.

The second page made his smile widen. The page was dominated by a sketch of him and Fenris in their winter finery, talking about something – him looking off into the distance at something, the elf's head turned to look up at him, a warm smile on his face. More sketches around the edges of the page – the pets, again, another of Fenris talking, brows furrowed just slightly. Sebastian's own face, with a crooked smile, and another of him, in three-quarter profile, looking thoughtful. He almost missed spotting the one of Hawke, just a tiny sketch of him tucked in between two drawings of Ashes – a lightly sketched profile of the man's face, his messy hair a mere suggestion of shape. He frowned slightly, and put the sheets away in his desk, discarding the written sheets after skimming them to make sure they were what he'd thought. At this point he was no longer expecting to find Anders writing a new manifesto or anything of similar ilk, but he didn't see any reason just yet to cease keeping an eye on the man.

By the time he'd finished that, he could hear the faint clink of dishes from the sitting room; the servants setting out lunch. He glanced over his desk to make sure there was nothing else needing attention, then headed to the other room. Fenris arrived just as he did, coming in the main door of the suite. He'd clearly been out riding Ari again; he was dressed for outdoors, a dusting of snow still visible on the shoulders of his cloak, hair wind-blown and cheeks flushed from cold, eyes sparkling, and smelling faintly of horse. He usually did carry through on his determination to bathe after riding, so Sebastian assumed something must have kept him outdoors longer than he'd intended.

When he asked, the elf nodded. "Yes. I came across a small group of refugees lost in the snow a couple of miles southwest of the city, and guided them to the camp. Two families, both Nevarran, with children – better equipped than most, they had a handcart full of belongings and supplies."

Sebastian nodded. He and Fenris were just serving themselves when the bedroom door opened and Anders entered as well. He'd clearly stayed outside playing with his dogs until just moments before coming in, Sebastian noticed; he'd taken off his cloak and changed out of his boots before coming up to Sebastian's rooms, but his cheeks were still flushed with cold as well, and there was the glint of melting snowflakes caught among his hair. The mage smiled happily at the pair of them, nodding in greeting as he moved to take his own seat.

Sebastian looked at the two of them, both looking equally handsome in their different ways, flushed from the cold, and smiled in amusement, imaging how his younger self would have reacted to being confronted with such a good-looking pair. Tried to bed them both, he had no doubt; he'd been rather aggressively hedonistic in his youth. Even disregarding the exotic touch of his white hair and silvery tattoos Fenris was a very handsome elf, and Anders' paler good looks were quite attractive as well. And, he had to admit, watching Anders grin at something Fenris had just said, he had a rather devastating smile.

Ashes jumped up on the table and moved to sniff curiously at one of the dishes in the middle. Anders laughed and picked him up, chiding him for his lack of manners. He really had grown up into quite a lovely cat, and every bit as handsome as his master was, though his long-limbed graceful body, lengthy pale grey fur, and wide green eyes put Sebastian more in mind of Fenris than Anders himself. Not a comparison the elf himself was likely to enjoy, though he put aside the thought of it as something to possibly tease either him or Anders about some time, if the opportunity presented itself.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Fenris suddenly said, and dug in his belt pouch. "A trader came in from Kirkwall today; he had a message for you and I, from Viscount Aveline he said."

He took out a folded and sealed letter, and passed it over to Sebastian. Sebastian glanced at the writting on the outside, where his and Fenris' names were marked. "That's her handwriting all right," he said as he broke the seal, then quickly read through the contents.

"Let's see... she's heard you're here, Fenris, and is glad you're safe. Hrmm... and she warns us that they had some problem with a Seeker in Kirkwall as well, not Reynard. Some woman... she snatched Varric!"

" _What!_ " Fenris exclaimed, looking angry. Anders looked startled and concerned as well.

Sebastian held up one hand while he quickly skimmed ahead, frowning at first but face gradually clearing. "Some woman, Nevarran, claimed to be one of the Pentaghasts – Cassandra. Oh, I remember her, one of the cousins of the current ruler – she was a few years younger than I and there was talk of betrothing us at one point, before I spoiled my reputation so thoroughly... seems she snatched Varric and questioned him extensively about Hawke and the rest of us, the events leading up to the destruction of the chantry in Kirkwall. Varric fed her his usual combination of truth and fiction and she went away again – Varric is fine, though rather ticked off. Aveline says their impression is that the Seekers thought _Hawke_ was behind your actions in Kirkwall, Anders – some kind of long-term plot. Which Varric dissuaded the woman of. And that the Seekers are looking for him for reasons of their own as well."

"Idiots," Anders muttered.

Sebastian shot him a brief grin. "I'd have to agree."

He resumed reading. "She mentions that she'll be sending me an official embassy of some kind come the spring to work on improving relations between Starkhaven and Kirkwall – Oh! And some good news – she and Donnic are expecting a child, also due by spring" he said, grinning. "As much to their surprise as anyone else's, it sounds like, though since it means an heir for her position as Viscount everyone is extremely pleased about it."

"That _is_ good news," Anders agreed, then frowned in concern. "I hope she'll be all right – she's rather old for a first pregnancy."

Sebastian nodded. "I'm sure as Viscount she has the finest healer in Hightown standing by."

Anders snorted. "That doesn't say much. Unless whoever that is has changed since we were all there."

Sebastian smiled. "Well, I'm sure she'll be fine. And I should start thinking of what would be a good birthing gift to send for the baby when he or she arrives."

They spent the remainder of the meal mulling over the news from Kirkwall, or at least Fenris and Sebastian did – Anders was mainly silent, a slight frown on his face. Worrying about Hawke, no doubt, Sebastian decided.


	45. Quiet Evening

Sebastian lounged back in his seat, glass of brandy cupped carefully in both hands. Anders was stretched out on the bench near the fire, also nursing a glass of brandy, with Ashes curled up in his lap. Fenris was sprawled on the floor between them, a half-empty bottle of good red wine at his side, though he was sipping it neatly from a glass rather than swigging directly from the bottle as he would have back in Kirkwall.

He couldn't remember now which of them had suggested earlier that evening that they drink to Aveline and Donnic, and the future little Viscount Hendyr, but it had seemed a good idea at the time. And he had to admit they'd been making a very pleasant time of it so far, lounging by the fire while the latest winter blizzard drove snow against the windows, telling each other stories about their adventures with Hawke and Aveline back in Kirkwall.

Neither Anders nor Sebastian had been along the evening Hawke cleared a patrol route along the Wounded Coast so Aveline could try and work up her nerve to talk to Donnic, during their rather eccentric courtship. At the moment the elf had reduced himself to sputtering, trying to repeat a conversation Aveline had with Isabella afterwards. Anders was drunk enough to be laughing as well, even if he hadn't the faintest idea what Fenris was trying – and failing – to say. Sebastian just grinned, feeling warm and content.

Finally Fenris wound down. Silence reigned for a little while, broken only by the hiss of the snow against the windows, the crackle of the fire, and Ashes' purring.

"Hey, Fenris..." Anders said hesitantly after a while.

"Mmmm?"

"I've been wondering... would you like to learn how to read?"

"Hawke tried, it didn't go well," Fenris reminded him, frowning silently.

"Yeah, but that was _Hawke_ ," Anders pointed out, frowning drunkenly. "As much as I love the man, I'll be among the first to admit he was often... lacking in patience."

"You should learn, Fenris," Sebastian chimed in. "Wouldn't you like to be able to read the book you and Anders are writing about Tevinter? Or anything else you wanted to, in my library."

Fenris frowned. "It is... tempting," he admitted after a minute, then looked curiously at Anders. "Are you offering to teach me?"

"Sure, why not. The clinic has been slow lately, and apart from that and our discussions about mages, I have little enough to do with my time right now."

Fenris cocked his head in thought, then shrugged. "Why not," he agreed. "Just promise you will not take offence if I become... irritated. I'm afraid Hawke was quite put out with me for a while after our attempt at a lesson went so poorly."

Anders snorted. "As long as your peevishness doesn't manifest in the form of your hand in my chest, I think I can manage to cope," he said dryly.

Fenris grinned, and lay back flat on the floor. "I believe I've lost my head for so much wine," he said conversationally. "Everything is spinning, just slightly. Pleasantly, so far, but I think I'd better stop drinking before that changes."

Sebastian snorted, and grinned as well. "It's a wise man that knows his limits. It is getting late... we should probably call it a night."

"I certainly should," Fenris agreed. "I have plans for an early-morning ride tomorrow, and I suspect horseback riding and a hangover would be an uneasy combination," he said, and somehow rolled from flat on his back to standing upright in one graceful move, his movement reflecting not in the least his level of intoxication.

Sebastian grinned. "Sleep well, Fenris."

Fenris nodded and walked off, heading back to his own apartment.

Anders sighed, and leaned back his head, closing his eyes. "I suppose I should retire as well."

Sebastian smiled pleasantly. "There is no rush. I still have my own drink to finish."

Anders smiled, eyes still closed. "This has been a very good evening," he observed.

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "Yes, it has," he agreed.

Anders grunted, and fell silent for a while before speaking again, sounding wistful. "Do you ever miss being back in Kirkwall? Going adventuring with Hawke, card nights at the Hanged Man, Varric and Isabela and the rest of them...?"

"Sometimes, yes," Sebastian admitted quietly. "Varric more than Isabela – she seemed to have made it a personal quest of hers to make me break my vows, or failing that to at least make me blush."

Anders grinned. "As I recall, she only rarely succeeded in making you blush."

"Yes, well, I had a rather lively time of it before joining the chantry," Sebastian said, grinning down into his glass. "Perhaps not as lengthy a time at it as Isabela has put in, but I daresay almost as varied."

Anders laughed and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Sebastian. "I remember her saying once she wished she'd met you then."

Sebastian smiled and looked over at him. "And I seem to recall her telling a story once of having met _you_ in your own wilder days."

Anders laughed again, eyes bright with good humour. "Oh, yes. At the Pearl in Denerim – I stayed there for a week on one of my escapes from the tower."

Sebastian frowned. "From the nature of your conversation I got the impression it was a brothel? You mentioned someone called the, ah... Lay Warden?"

Anders grinned. "Oh, yes, her... she had the most amazing griffon tattoos. If you asked her nicely enough she'd show you how she could make the big one flap its wings..."

"Enough!" Sebastian exclaimed, laughingly. "I don't think I need to hear any further about her. You stayed in a brothel for a week? Wasn't that rather, err... expensive?"

Anders' grin widened. "Not when you're working there."

Sebastian stared at him in astonishment. "You... you _worked_ in a brothel!"

"Oh, not as one of the whores, though I had offers. Bartender," Anders said, grinning crookedly.

"But you and Isabela... er..."

"Slept together? Yes. She can be very persuasive when she wants to be. It was a very entertaining and _educational_ evening," Anders said, a wistful expression crossing his face. "I'd have quite happily stayed at the Pearl longer, unfortunately one of the participants in the evening's fun and games turned out to be a templar, and he remembered my magic fingers a little _too_ well after he'd sobered up the next day. So off back to the tower I went."

Sebastian blinked. " _One_ of the... you had an _orgy_ with Isabela!"

Anders grinned. "Yes. Am I shocking you?"

Sebastian sighed. "Only in that I'd never have imagined you being so... uninhibited."

Anders shrugged. "Justice changed a lot of things about me," he said softly, regretfully. "I don't think he ever understood the point of sex. Well, _logically_ he understood that sex was necessary for the procreation of living beings, but he didn't see the point of doing things just for the pleasure of it. Food just needed to be edible, clothes cover the body well enough to stay warm, that sort of thing. I was quite the hedonist before he and I... merged."

Sebastian tilted his head to the side, thinking of the shabbily dressed, often-exhausted, scrawny, bitter, driven man he'd known for so many years in Kirkwall, and failing utterly to picture him and the word 'hedonist' going together in any way at all. "I wish I'd known you then," he said thoughtfully.

Anders crowed with laughter. "Now you're sounding like Isabela!"

"I didn't mean it that way! It's just... I can't picture you as a hedonist."

Anders shrugged again, still looking amused. "I was a vain little thing back then," he said wistfully, and sat up, swinging his long legs to the floor and resting his forearms on his knees, ducking his head, an amused smile on his face. "I was pretty much as aggressive about making my desires known as Isabela is. And always dressed well – nice robes, hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail, washed and scented, a gold earring in one ear – brought out the colours of my eyes and hair, you see," he explained, and glanced up at Sebastian, grinning crookedly again.

And for just a moment, in that flash of an amused look, Sebastian could imagine it – could imagine Anders as a younger, happier man, living life to the fullest any time he managed to escape the oppressive confines of the tower. And really did wish he'd had a chance to know that younger Anders.

"Well, I should head back downstairs," Anders said. "The dogs will be wanting out the door first thing in the morning whether or not I've got a hangover or have slept long enough. And you've finished your brandy."

"So I have," Sebastian agreed, a little regretfully, putting aside his empty glass. They both rose to their feet, Anders picking up Ashes before moving off toward the nearby door.

"Is it just me, or is the fact that we're both headed for your bedroom right after that particular conversation a little awkward?" Anders asked, grinning again as he glanced back over his shoulder.

Sebastian laughed. "I suppose it is."

They hesitated just inside his room. "Well... good-night, Sebastian," Anders said, and walked over to let himself down the stairs.

"Sleep well, Anders," Sebastian called after him, waiting for the hanging to fall back and the door hidden behind it to close before moving towards his bed to change into his nightclothes.


	46. Dreams

Perhaps he should have expected that after so much brandy and conversation about youthful indiscretions that his dreams might be a little more colourful than usual that night. An old, well-worn dream at first, of walking through darkened city streets that almost but weren't quite familiar, the arrangement of buildings, the very geography changed from what it had been in reality.

A chase, ducking down a narrow alley and then into a bar to evade his pursuers. Drinking and talking in a crowded room, which changed gradually from the bar to a bedroom, people vanishing until he was alone with just one person, that first whore he'd ever had, the woman with the long red braid and the eyes green as new grass, freckles across her pert nose. She'd had freckles on her equally pert breasts, he always remembered those. And on her shoulders, her arms... A heated kiss and then they were naked together on the bed, the elven girl with waist-length black hair and sapphire eyes smiling wickedly at him before she lowered her head and began to suck on his cock.

Someone stopped by the bed, wine-glass held in one elegant hand, with well-remembered long elegant fingers that knew how to do the most incredible things to a man. He turned away to speak to them, and then strong hands were pulling him back, an arm hooking around him from behind, hand outspread on his chest, the skin dark, nails cut off square, one finger crooked where it had been broken and the bone healed unevenly. He remembered how he'd laughed at the scratchiness of the man's beard against the tender skin of his neck as the riverboat sailor nipped and lapped at the back of it, then along the top of one shoulder, before those strong hands turned him over and held him down as the sailor kissed his way further downwards. He tangled his hands in curly brown hair, arching in pleasure, and then Fenris said something to him and the room was gone, the bed was gone, the man was gone. Sitting in a chair, drinking watered wine and watching Fenris, the elf talking, expression intent though he could not catch what he was saying.

Fenris rose and stepped past him to pick up a fresh bottle of wine from the table, and when he turned to look for him the room had changed again, he was in that brothel down by the river, in the old inn, the one that had only been there the one winter before the woman running it had got herself messily dead in a fight between jealous lovers. The upstairs room all decorated in dark blue and cream, him tangled between the twins, fraternal brother and sister, both with white-blond hair and creamy pale skin, pale as milk, and the palest blue eyes he'd ever seen, him in the girl, the brother in him, waves and waves of pleasure as they moved and touched and kissed. He buried his face in the girl's long blond hair and nuzzled at her ear, drew back his head and no it wasn't white-blond, but red-gold and a man, with honey-brown eyes and a devastating smile. He cried out in surprised pleasure...

...and Sebastian woke, panting, cock twitching and a damp mess in his breeches. He hissed in distaste, quickly flipping back the sheets and climbing out of bed before it could soak through and stain the bedding. He pushed down and kicked off his breeches, then stalked off to the bathing chamber to clean himself up, thinking of just a damp cloth until he noted the paling sky outside the windows and realized it was almost morning anyway. By the time he'd drawn a bath and climbed in, the dream had faded, as dreams do, leaving nothing but a vague memory of it being the usual confused and well-worn dream of his youthful misadventures, even that fading away in the face of his slight hangover from all the drinking the night before.

He spent some time washing his skin and hair, then lazed in the bath for a while, a slight smile on his lips as he thought about how enjoyable the previous day had been. Then he remembered Fenris' intention of going on an early-morning ride, and decided he should join him. He rose from the bath, towelled off, and walked naked to his bedroom to find suitable clothing, the dream already forgotten.

* * *

Perhaps he should have expected that after so much brandy and conversation about youthful indiscretions that his dreams might be a little more colourful than usual that night. An old, well-worn dream at first, of walking through busy city streets that almost but weren't quite familiar, the arrangement of buildings, the very geography changed from what it had been in reality.

A chase, ducking under a merchant's counter in the market and then a fast sprint across the crowded marketplace and into the alienage, the templars lost behind him. A long walk through changing streets, sometimes of the city and sometimes of tiny rural villages and sometimes through curving stone corridors, smelling of old stone and lake water and magic.

The Pearl, standing behind the counter and serving drinks to a changing array of people. A gleaming smile, dark eyes and dark skin and long dark hair luring him down to the hallway to a large room with the largest bed he'd ever seen, his nervousness at seeing so many people already tumbling around in it, the woman's whoop as she ran forward and _dove_ into the pile, yanking her top off over her head as she ran. He turned to watch the movement of the top, and it wasn't cloth, it was the swishing tassel at the end of a cow's long tail, standing placidly in the next stall chewing on its cud while the pretty young milkmaid introduced him to a different kind of milking and told him what to do with his own fingers to make her equally happy, the two of them squirming around in the straw on the wooden floor of the barn, its sweet scent of summer and sunlight filling his nose. Then the girl was lost in the straw, and the straw changed, no longer fresh and sweet but old and mildewed, cold stone floor under it, tall stone walls around him. It was night, and he could hear the sound of armoured footsteps approaching through the darkness, and fear fear _fear_...

...he half-woke, muttering uneasily in his sleep and turned over. Ganwyn nosed at him for a moment, then curled up again and they both drifted back to sleep...

"...You're not locked in the dark any more." A warm voice, surprisingly gentle and kind, one he could trust, and he relaxed. Arms around him, holding him safe and protected. Karl, smoothing his hair back from his face, smiling warmly at him, cupping his face in both hands and leaning down to kiss him, their bodies surging urgently together on the floor of the room he used as a workroom, smelling of sawdust and glue and varnish and _Karl_. Karl smiled warmly at him, but no, it was King Alistair, smiling warmly at Soria, as he confirmed her conscription of Anders, that bitch Rylock standing frozen and furious at his side. Rylock's shocked face as Soria killed her, Soria's blade moving in a bright arc as it slashed through the genlock's throat in the darkness of the Deep Roads, Sigrun's whoop of victory as she dove forward, axes in each hand, and into the bed full of squirming naked bodies, dark eyes glinting with mischief as Isabela turned over, numerous hands already groping her dark skin, her large perfect breasts, down between her legs.

"Aren't you going to join us?" she asked, pouting those lovely luscious lips, and he shook his head in bemusement and laughed, then peeled off his own shirt and skinned out of the rest of his clothes, discarding them on the floor with everyone else's, and joined the pile on the bed. Hands all over him, warm flesh everywhere he reached, and pleasure pleasure _pleasure_... and then there was just one person left in the bed, but instead of remembered dusky female skin under his hands it was someone pale, and male, limbs dusted and head topped with red-brown hair, bright blue eyes glazing, warm voice crying out in wordless pleasure as he arched under Anders' touch...

...and Anders woke, panting, hard as a rock and so damned _close_ to going over the edge, but not _quite_ there yet, dammit! He started to reach for himself, to bring himself off, and then froze, blushing darkly in embarrassment as he remembered all too clearly just _who_ he'd been dreaming about before he woke. Sebastian. And the thought of wanking to finish off a wet dream of Prince Sebastian Vael, of all people... it was just too absurd for him. He laughed, earning a puzzled look from both dogs and an offended glare from Ashes, and the moment passed, his urgency fading enough that he was able to get out of bed and stumble off into his bathing chamber, where a quick scrub with a cloth dipped in cold water quelled the rest of his ardour.

He was going to find it hard not to blush over lunch with Fenris and Sebastian later today, with the memory of his dream fresh in his mind. He pulled on some clothes, and padded off to the main room to let the dogs and Ashes out to do their business, and started putting together breakfast for himself. Maybe he'd forget the dream by then, if he worked hard enough at distracting himself this morning... of course, it would all come back the moment he saw Sebastian's face again he was sure. The Maker had a cruel sense of humour, he sometimes thought.


	47. Morning Ride

Fenris looked up as a familiar voice called his name. He paused in tacking up Ari, and smiled warmly at the man. "Sebastian. Good morning."

"I remembered you'd mentioned going out for an early-morning ride, and thought I'd join you, seeing as I have the morning free for once," Sebastian said. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not," he said, though he did mind a little; he enjoyed the solitude of his long rides on Ari, and having Sebastian along meant not just Sebastian himself, but a cluster of mounted guards along to protect the prince from harm. He quickly revised his plans; a sedate ride through the city, perhaps, instead of the gallop on the snow-covered hills outside the city that he preferred. Well, maybe not entirely through the city, at lest some time outside the walls would be refreshing, even if they didn't stray too far from them.

He had to wait a few minutes while Sebastian and his guard's horses were readied, and then they mounted up and headed out of the castle grounds at a sedate pace, down through the upper city and out the nearest gate. They picked up the pace then, the horses moving at a trot along the roadway that paralleled the city walls, moving north toward the river. Fenris turned off onto a wide path before they reached the river road, and they picked up the pace to a canter for a while, finally slowing to a walk as they reached the crest of a hill with a fine view out over the bottomlands. They stopped there for a while, dismounting and walking around, enjoying the view.

"I love this land," Sebastian said softly as he and Fenris paused at one point, looking out over the snow-draped lines of a vineyard on the southern slope of the hill. "I never wanted to be ruler here, when I was a boy, no matter what my parents might have feared about my _ambitions_ as a third, unwanted son. But I would have loved to have had a manor, and overseen the care of it and its lands and people. Instead I ended up with the chantry, and now... now it's all mine after all."

Fenris looked over at him. "Do you regret it?"

"Do I regret it? Yes, parts of it. My family and I were never particularly close. I sometimes think half my anger over their deaths was _because_ I didn't feel the amount of grief over them that I knew I properly should have. Yet I would not have ever wished them dead. I was... content, in the chantry. More than content, I had learned to take joy in my duties as a priest. I... regret that, that the joy of the priesthood has been taken from me; I am still a brother in the chantry, but no longer a priest," he said, turning away from the vineyard and beginning a slow stroll back over the crest of the hill.

"I sometimes wonder how much of my indecision over whether to resume my priesthood, or come here and take up the mantle of the rulership, was because I feared that by doing so I would prove that my parents' fears of my ambition were justified," he mused. "Or that I would prove to be a poor ruler, when I had at least been an acceptable priest. Or would not enjoy it, as I had the priesthood."

They walked in silence for a minute, pausing again looking north over the river. "And do you enjoy it?" Fenris asked curiously after a while.

Sebastian smiled. "Very much. These lands are far larger than the simple manor I once wished to possess, but I enjoy overseeing the care of the land and my people. I try to be a good prince to them, as I was a good priest to the people of Kirkwall in the past. The two roles are not so widely dissimilar, except that as a priest I cared for their inner life, and as prince I care for their outer."

Fenris nodded. They remounted, and headed back, working their way downhill to re-enter the city by one of the lower gates near the river. They were a good way along the riverfront before Fenris took note of the uneasiness of the guards and realized that the waterfront district, crowded as it was with warehouses, stores, small manufacturies, tenements, run-down hostelries and inns, brothels, and the working poor, was perhaps not the wisest of routes to take with the prince at his side. He'd ridden through here many times by himself, of course, but then it had only taken a couple of incidents for the local toughs to realize that the temptingly well-off looking elf was not worth getting into a fight with. Not when such fights tended to end with considerable bloodshed.

He glanced over at Sebastian, and saw the prince himself looked not in the least worried, but was instead peering about with curiosity. "There used to be a quite fine brothel there, many years ago," he remarked, nodding to a street corner occupied by a dilapidated ruin of a building, half the roof burnt away, an eatery of the cheapest sort being run out of the ground floor. "Maker's breath, the amount of time – and money! – I used to waste in the brothels and bars down here. I think that my choice of location bothered my parents more than my actual activities," he added, a faint smile curving his lips. "They certainly didn't object to the time my middle brother spent in the high-class establishments in the upper city. That was still _respectable_ , which I certainly was not."

Fenris smiled. "I forget sometimes that you had a colourful past," he remarked.

Sebastian snorted. "I wish more people would. Having not seen me during my years away in Kirkwall, most of my nobles still expected me to be the rebellious wastrel I was before I was bundled off to the chantry. And the few who didn't expected me to be a sanctimonious prude. I fear both groups were badly surprised by me... they are only recently coming to terms with the real me."

Fenris suppressed a smile. "I am sure that must have led to some very, ah... _interesting_ encounters in your first few weeks here," he observed.

"That it did," Sebastian agreed, eyes glittering with amusement. "The ones seeking to win my favour couldn't decide whether to throw pretty girls or psalm books at me. Which amused me to some degree, at least when the pretty girls weren't their daughters. Or their own mistress," he added, voice hardening momentarily, then sighed resignedly. "I know I must either have my remaining vows put aside some day and marry to beget an heir, or look to my cousins for one, but I am in no hurry to do either."

They reached a sizable open place between the close-packed buildings, where several winding streets intersected, the place crowded with a marketplace, stalls and counters and shop-front everywhere one looked. Sebastian looked around with interest. "This is new since my youth," he observed. "There used to be a building in the centre of this space, didn't there?" he asked, turning to look at his guards.

"Aye, m'Lord," one volunteered. "The old Captain's guildhall. It burned down one winter... about nine, ten years ago, I think it was. They built a new one elsewhere, and after the ruins were torn down people started using the space as a market."

Sebastian nodded. "A good place for one. Come, Fenris, let us take a tour of it," he said, and dismounted, passing his reins to one of the guards. Fenris grunted and did the same.

"Most of you stay here with the horses," Sebastian instructed his guard. "You can keep an eye on us wherever we are in the place from here – just two come along, in case of need."

The leader of the little squad nodded, and signed two of the men to join the prince, including the one who'd known about the old guildhall and presumably knew the area.

Sebastian smiled as they walked down a narrow lane way between stalls. "Reminds me of the Lowtown market in Kirkwall," he observed.

"Only less smelly," Fenris agreed, then made a face and swerved to one side as they passed a long counter piled high with fish. "Or at least different smelly."

Sebastian laughed, looking interestedly at a sizable sturgeon displayed on a marble slab halfway along the counter, and exchanging some words with the stall-keeper about its impressive size, much to the man's obvious delight.

Word that Prince Vael himself was walking about their humble market spread rapidly among the commoners. Fenris felt his ears heating slightly as he heard himself referred to as the 'elf prince'. He was no prince, and while he'd gotten used to hearing the term – which had started up the first time he'd gone on a ride through the city on Ari in his winter finery, and which no amount of protests would put an end to – he'd never come to like it. At least it no longer infuriated him as it had at first. Amused him sometimes, yes, over the humans and their obsession with status, and it was certainly embarrassing him at the moment, but that was all.

He glanced at Sebastian, hoping the prince had missed hearing the term, but by the smirk the man was turning his way, Sebastian had indeed noticed it – and was amused. " _Prince_ elf, is it?" he asked softly, as they turned a corner to start down a lane lined with displays of cheap jewellery and cheaper clothing.

"You know I am not," Fenris said, then gave him a dark look. "And if you ever use the term in the mage's hearing, I swear I will rip your heart from your chest."

Sebastian laughed in delight, then paused at a stall draped in scarves and shawls. "Oh, this is very fine work, isn't it," he said in delight. "Dalish, is it not?"

The elven woman behind the counter nodded, eyes wide with both fear and pleasure – pleasure at her wares being so praised, and fear at who was doing the praising. "Y-yes, m'Lord," she stuttered. "My father's brother is Dalish, and sends him thing to sell in exchange for things from the city," she explained faintly, hands clenched in the fabric of her dress and wringing it worriedly.

Sebastian fingered the fringe of a large shawl. "Look at this, Fenris – this gold-and-green fabric, it's just like the scarf Merrill always wore."

"Not quite like, the motifs are very different," Fenris said after moving closer to look at it. "Since she'd been the First to Keeper Marethari, hers was woven with patterns based on herb-lore, while this is merely a floral pattern that anyone might wear. But the colours are certainly similar."

Sebastian started to turn away, then stopped, his eye caught by a scarf of bright gold. He smiled, remembering his and Anders' conversation the night before, and how the man had talked about his old love of finery, and the gold earring that had brought out the colours of his hair and eyes. He grinned, and lifted the length of soft fabric, already imagining it draped around the man's neck, and how fine it would look. And there, a second scarf of deep green with a geometric pattern worked into it in fine lines of glittering silver thread – perfect for Fenris. He needed one for himself, too, he decided, and selected one in white, a subtle pattern of gold worked on it, like scattered stars.

"I'd like these," he said warmly. "How much?"

The woman promptly tried to give them to him, then when he insisted on her asking a fair price, asked a price that was ridiculously low. He shook his head, smiling, then shook his finger at her. "Since you won't name a fair price, I'll give you what _I_ think is a fair price for them," he said, and counted out three gold coins on the counter – several times their real worth, but he felt like making a grand gesture. He draped the white scarf around his own neck, and handed the green to Fenris, who had his face set in the slight scowl he habitually wore when playing Wicked Grace, but silently accepted and put on the scarf.

"We should head back to the castle, it's nearly time for lunch," Sebastian observed, and led the way back toward their horses.

They were mounted and moving away before Fenris spoke again. "You realize you've just made that woman's fortune, don't you?" he asked quietly.

"What, out of three gold coins?"

"No. Out of a Prince's patronage, and a sudden new fashion for Dalish scarves and shawls," Fenris said dryly. "Which she is likely one of the very few in the city who can provide."

Sebastian grinned. "Besides, everyone will want to purchase from the same woman the Prince bought from – though only a few will emulate the price I paid," he agreed.

"Why did you do it?"

Sebastian shrugged. "Why not. They _are_ very beautiful scarves."

Fenris snorted, and dropped the subject.


	48. Lunch

Anders was surprised to find the sitting room empty. At least one of the other two were always there before he was; this was the first time that he could recall being the first to arrive. At least the servants had already been in to set out lunch, several covered dishes decorating the middle of the table, some with small flames flicking in holders under them to keep the contents warmed, or set in bowls of ice to keep them cold. He was hesitating over whether to take a seat and serve himself, or wait for the others, when the doors to the suite opened and Sebastian and Fenris walked in, clearly having just come from a ride together. Both of them had flushed cheeks and smelled a little of horse, their cloaks thrown back over their shoulder to display bright scarves of Dalish work around their necks that he didn't recall seeing either wear before.

If he'd thought there was any chance of his memory of this morning's dream escaping him, the sight of a sparkling-eyed Sebastian drove any hope of it away, his mind gleefully superimposing the flushed face of the smiling prince before him on the naked body arching in pleasure in his dream. He quickly looked away, hoping his own cheeks weren't blushing in embarrassment. He hastily dropped Ashes on the seat of his chair and concentrated his gaze on picking up his plate before lifting the nearest lid. "Been out riding?" he asked with forced casualness, as the pair shucked off their voluminous cloaks, draping them over the back of a nearby couch.

"Yes, and it was a very fine day for it," Sebastian agreed easily, moving to claim his usual chair, then turned his attention to serving himself. "We rode outside the walls for a bit, and then down into the lower city, near the docks, and explored a market."

"It was rather like the Lowtown market, only larger, with a wider variety of goods," Fenris chimed in, then made a face as he lifted the lid of one dish. "Fish," he said in disgust, making a face.

"Yes, there was fish, among other things," Sebastian agreed.

"No, I mean this is some sort of fish," Fenris said, firmly replacing the lid.

"There's herbed chicken in the one beside it," Anders pointed out helpfully.

Fenris nodded and served himself some of the chicken, while Sebastian and Anders both took some of the fish – Sebastian for himself, and Anders so that he could feed slivers of it, carefully picked free of bones, to Ashes. The cat sat up attentively in his lap to receive the treat, purring deeply in appreciation.

He picked at his own food, resolutely keeping his eyes away from Sebastian. Which meant looking at Fenris instead. The scarf draped around his neck really was quite beautiful, the green and silver bringing out the elf's green eyes, white hair, and silver lyrium markings. He felt a minor surge of acquisitiveness, thinking how much he'd have loved a similar scarf in his youth. Though not in green and silver; he looked quite fine in green, he knew, but in cool colours he preferred blue, or perhaps teal, and he definitely preferred gold over silver.

He eyed the scarf around Sebastian's neck as well, and found himself wondering about them. A gift from a shopkeeper, perhaps? Or were they more personal gifts, in which case which of the pair had bought them, or had they... perhaps... even bought them for each other. He felt a pang of jealousy at the thought.

Fenris was laughing now at something Sebastian had said. He really was quite handsome, and he and Sebastian had been close friends for many years. Anders could hardly object if that friendship had become, well, _closer_ since the elf's arrival in Starkhaven. Fenris had saved Sebastian's life, after all, and that sort of thing tended to form bonds – witness his own growing friendship with the prince since Sebastian had...

_Friendship_. And just when had he started thinking of himself as _friends_ with Sebastian, not just his captive? Granted, their relationship was hardly a typical one of jailor and prisoner; witness that he was sitting here for lunch with the man, and their drinking session the evening before. He really had no right to think of Sebastian as a friend, not after Kirkwall. And yet... he did. It wasn't at all logical, but he _trusted_ the man, as he'd trusted very few others in his life to date. Trusted Fenris too, he supposed, though not in quite the same way.

"You're very quiet today," Sebastian observed. "Hard day at the clinic?"

"What? Oh, no... just thinking," he said, then hastily turned Sebastian's attention elsewhere, certain he was going to blush again if the prince kept looking at him. "Fenris, how would you like to get a start on those reading lessons this afternoon? Or are you busy?"

Fenris looked mildly startled, then pleased. Anders wondered if the elf had expected him to forget the offer to teach him. "I am free," he agreed solemnly.

"And I, unfortunately, am not," Sebastian said, making a face. "Yet another meeting with the guildmasters. You'll be pleased to hear we've finally hammered out the details of the plan to see that any craftsmen among the refugees be helped to reestablish themselves here in Starkhaven; they're supposed to be reporting to me on how many of such have been located."

Anders nodded, and smiled pleasantly. "That is good news," he agreed, as Sebastian rose to his feet.

"Oh, I almost forgot – I got a gift for you, too," Sebastian said, and pulled a handful of bright fabric out of one of his belt pouches, shaking it out and then thrusting it toward the surprised mage. "I remembered you liked gold," he added with a grin.

Anders hesitantly accepted the scarf, marvelling at how soft the fabric was, feeling both surprised and pleased by the gift. He smiled and hung the strip of cloth around his neck. "Thank you, it's beautiful," he said softly.

Sebastian nodded, looking pleased, and headed off.

Well. Not a lover's token between Sebastian and Fenris then. Or at least, probably not – it was always possible that the prince was canny enough that if he _had_ gotten involved with Fenris, and wished to keep it secret, that he'd think to gift things to both of them, so the gift with real meaning wouldn't stand out so obviously. Still... whether or not it was a casual gift or not, he was touched that Sebastian had remembered his preference in colours.

"Finished eating?" he asked Fenris brightly. "Let's go down to my study and get a start on those lessons.

* * *

They hadn't been at table for very long before Sebastian had noticed the way Anders was looking at Fenris. A frankly admiring look, the mage's eyes lingering appraisingly on the warrior for some time. He could hardly fault the man for that, Fenris _was_ quite attractive, especially with the flushed, happy look he invariably seemed to have after going out for a ride in the cold on Ari.

His own younger self certainly would have entertained ideas about other ways in which to bring a similar flush to the warrior's cheeks. And after their talk last night, he had little doubt that a younger Anders would have had similar thoughts. He really shouldn't be surprised if the mage started showing signs of... _interest_ , in their companion. Unlike himself, the mage didn't have vows of chastity acting to keep him from any such impulse.

Still, when Anders briefly met his eyes and then blushed in embarrassment – clearly for having been caught staring at their friend – before averting his eyes from Sebastian again, he felt uncomfortable at the thought that the man was attracted to the elf. And then found himself frowning in thought over his plate as he wondered if Fenris returned Anders interest. The two had certainly been thrown together enough – at his own instigation, no less – that he knew their former dislike of each other was a thing of the past.

Was it possible that they'd gone beyond mere lack of dislike, even friendship, and become... lovers?

He didn't want to believe it. Not least, he supposed, because he felt that in the face of his own increasing friendship with the mage, it was good to have someone more impartial around to help keep an eye on Anders, and ensure he was not returning to being the fanatical apostate they'd both known – and loathed – in Kirkwall. He liked to think that he could trust his own judgement, that if Anders did start to revert he'd notice and _do_ something about it, but having Fenris also here, also keeping an eye on Anders, had been... reassuring.

Realizing how quiet Anders had been for most of the meal, he asked the mage a question. The man's answer was somewhat evasive, and then he promptly turned to Fenris and raised the subject of the lessons in reading he'd previously offered the elf. Yet another reason for the pair to spend time in each other's company, Sebastian glumly realized, even though he highly approved of the idea of Fenris learning to read.

Realizing he wasn't feeling hungry any more, Sebastian abruptly made his excuses to go and rose to his feet. At the last moment he recalled he still hadn't given Anders the scarf he'd bought for him. The look of genuine surprise and pleasure in the man's eyes partially restored his previous good mood. As did seeing how striking Anders looked with it draped around his neck.

He hurried off to prepare for his upcoming meeting, putting the episode behind him.


	49. A Nice Hot Bath

Anders sighed and leaned to the side, cheek resting against cupped hand, other hand busily sketching on the parchment spread flat on the desk behind him. Another sketch of his cat took shape on the paper, bringing a slight smile to his lips.

In the couple of weeks since they'd received word from Aveline, things had become... _strained_ , somehow, between himself and Sebastian. He wasn't sure quite why, though he knew on his own part things like his growing fascination with the prince – no, to be honest, his growing _lust_ for the man – had contributed in no small part. It was difficult to relax around someone who was making regular appearances in your more heated dreams. Especially when his fair complexion made even the slightest blush all too obvious.

Blight it, why couldn't he have conceived an obsession with someone who it was at least _possible_ to imagine having a real relationship with. One of his guards, most of them reasonably handsome men. A servant, like that pretty maidservant he'd seen cleaning in Sebastian's rooms a couple of times when he'd been there at times other than lunch. _Dugall_ would have been a more sensible person to fixate on than Sebastian, and _he_ was straight as a ruler. Even Fenris would have made more sense, though he was pretty sure any indication of interest from him would be met with the glowing blue fist of painful sudden death.

He was still wondering if Fenris and Sebastian were involved in some way. Sebastian certainly seemed to be monopolizing the elf's time of late – when he wasn't with Anders for their discussions on freedom, or his lessons, he was almost invariably with either his horse or Sebastian, as far as Anders could tell. Sometimes both, the prince being quite fond of riding himself.

It bothered him how jealous it made him feel, that Fenris had excuses to spend time with Sebastian that he himself didn't. Even if he'd pretended to a sudden interest in horses, he doubted that would get him long rides alone with Sebastian like Fenris had. Well, not quite _alone_ , he corrected himself, lips quirking with sudden humour. The pair of them and never less than a half-dozen guards, he was sure. Not exactly the right company in which to have an intimate little moment.

Anyway, he had no business being jealous of the pair of them. No business lusting over Sebastian.

His eyes fell on the parchment in front of him, and he blushed when he realized he'd been sketching a scene from the last night's dream, in which the blue-eyed prince had again featured in a starring role. Blushing deeply, he hastily dropped his pen, crumpled the parchment into a ball of paper, and rose to his feet. He tossed it toward the fireplace, muttering a curse as it bounced off the surround and rolled across the floor rather than landing in the fire as he'd intended. Before he could retrieve it, a silvery form streaked out from under his desk and landed on the crumpled ball, then a paw batted it across the floor and Ashes was in full-out pursuit of it. Anders grinned, watching the cat's antics as he played with this latest delightful toy, then shook his head and walked over to the stairs.

He'd have his supper, and a nice hot bath, and then early to bed, he decided.

* * *

Anders dripped a little scented oil into his bath – balsam, he'd come to learn this scent was called – and carefully capped and set aside the little ceramic container of it, then stepped into the tub and lowered himself down to sit, sighing in pleasure as the warmth of the water penetrated. He grimaced and rolled his shoulders, arching his back as the heat made his scarred flesh itch and tingle for a moment; the nerves there had never been quite the same after all the damage. Then the sensation faded, and he leaned back in the bath, letting his head drop back against the shaped lip of the huge marble tub.

He just soaked for a while, letting his mind drift pleasantly, enjoying the luxury of the bath. For a luxury it was, this big marble tub and all the hot water he wanted whenever he took the time to fill and heat the boiler. He could have cheated a little, he knew, and just filled the tub and heated it magically, but part of the enjoyment of this unexpectedly luxurious little bathing chamber was the labour of filling up the boiler, patiently waiting for the water to heat while he did other things – ate his supper and played with the dogs out in the snow for a while, in this case – then filled the tub and _luxuriated_ in it.

Though he had no objections to using his magic to reheat the water when it started to cool too much. After which he picked up the bar of soap waiting nearby and gave himself a good cleaning. Hair first, followed by ducking under the surface to rise out the lather, slicking it back out of his face before continuing. Face, neck, shoulders, arms, and hands were easily enough dealt with, then the awkward folding and stretching to reach and clean his feet, including between every toe. Then up his legs to his stomach and chest, and down again, to his more sensitive spots, finally putting aside the soap and lazing back in the tub, the water still pleasantly hot and just a little milky-looking from the soap dissolved into it.

He looked down at himself, at his body disappearing down into the water. His condition had improved considerably since Kirkwall; he'd put on a little weight, yes, but only just enough to look healthy instead of all gaunt and boney. One of the benefits of that damned Grey Warden hunger; he'd have had to overeat by a phenomenal amount to actually become overweight. He spread his hand out on his belly under the water, feeling how taut it was; the work in the garden in the summer and fall, and all the playing with the dogs, and occasional horseback riding, had put him in pretty good shape. He was probably in the best shape he'd been since Amaranthine, really.

He tilted his head back against the rim of the tub again, sighing. No, those weren't memories he particularly wanted to resurrect, they'd spoil his otherwise good mood. He closed his eyes instead, and found himself thinking about lunch with Sebastian and Fenris today, and how hard it had been to sit there and try to act normally when he felt like blushing every time he looked at the prince. He'd spent most of the meal staring down at his plate, only to have Sebastian asked him in a concerned voice at the end of the meal if he was feeling all right.

Maker, why why _why_ was he so damned fixated on such a stupidly unobtainable person! He seemed to make a habit of it; look at how long he'd pined over Hawke before the two of them had finally gotten together. And that was something else he didn't want to think about, he decided, wincing. Hawke. Whose love he'd had so briefly, only to destroy it along with the chantry in Kirkwall.

He tried to turn his thoughts in a pleasanter direction, thinking about things like playing outside in the snow with the dogs, or lying stretched out on the couch upstairs with a book purloined from the castle library and reading, Ashes stretched out purring on his tummy. His smile widened, remembering Ashes luring Fenris into playing with him briefly during lunch today, the cat lunging at the ends of the scarf hung around the elf's neck, Fenris' quiet smile as he flicked the fringe in and out of Ashes' reach. He smirked, remembering Fenris' shocked, half-angry, half-amused reaction when Sebastian had compared the cat and the elf – both green-eyed, pale-haired and graceful, with nastily sharp weapons on their fingertips, the prince had pointed out.

He wondered if Sebastian had thought that up on the spot, or had thought of it earlier and just been waiting for an appropriate time to pull it out. He remembered looking at the prince, lost for a moment in his wicked grin and dancing eyes, and how he'd had to abruptly find something else to look at when the man turned and glanced at him, knowing he was blushing and unable to stop it.

He felt his cock twitch, down under the water, at the memory of that crooked grin, those warm blue eyes. For a moment he froze, flushing with embarrassment – and then uttered a particularly vile curse and let his hand slide further down his stomach, down to touch himself. As explicit as his dreams had become of late, he didn't think jerking off to thoughts of the prince could possibly make his embarrassment around the man any _worse_ than it already was.

Trying not to think too much about just exactly what he was doing, he lightly wrapped his hand around himself. He closed his eyes again, tilting his head back further as he stroked himself to fullness, images from his dreams rising easily before his mind's eye, of a naked Sebastian, flushed and wanton and _wanting_. He changed his grip, using both hands on himself now, thumb and forefinger of one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, remaining fingers gently massaging his balls and the sensitive skin just behind them, while his other hand took up the long pulling strokes, sometimes pausing to palm over his swollen tip. He bit down on his lower lip, all too aware of the little sounds of pleasure escaping him, echoing off the marble tub and stone-tiled walls, the lapping of the water against the sides of the tub as he braced his feet against the hard stone and thrust up into his own hands.

The echoes made it almost sound like there was a second person in here with him, their little sounds of passion an echo of his own. He imagined it being Sebastian's voice, crying out as their bodies moved together. Him in Sebastian, or Sebastian in him...? No, it didn't matter, just that it was the two of them, _together_... his back arched, a low cry escaping his throat as he came, seed pumping out into the warm cloudy water, water slopping out on the floor from the force of his motion. He collapsed back afterwards, panting and limp for a moment, then slowly rose to his feet, stepping out of the tub on unexpectedly shaky legs. He moved away from the puddle around the tub, towelling himself dry and pulling on his waiting nightshirt and loose breeches before staggering out of the room and into his bedroom to collapse into bed.

He dragged the sheets up over himself and was asleep before Ashes and Ganwyn had even finished settling into their accustomed places around him.


	50. Reading Lesson

Sebastian slowly drew back on the bow, inhaling as he did, stopped the motion, aimed with his breath held, and released. He grinned as the arrow sunk dead centre into the bull's-eye of the target. He shot twice more, making a good tight cluster of arrows in the middle of the target, then glanced to the other side of the practise yard, where Fenris was going through a series of exercises, his oversized sword biting again and again into a straw-padded practise dummy. Judging by its tattered state, had the dummy been a real opponent it would have been dead several times over already. Even as he watched, a particularly vicious move sheered the head off of the dummy entirely, loose straw fountaining over the ground around it.

"I think it's safely dead now," Sebastian called out as he strolled over to retrieve his arrows from the target.

"As is yours, I see," Fenris responded, checking his blade for damage before deftly re-sheathing it, handling the monstrous sword with deceptive ease.

"Aye, we're a lethal pair, we are," Sebastian said, dropping his arrows carefully into his quiver and then unstrung his bow. "Well, that was enjoyable. As many meetings as I've been stuck in lately, I've been missing my regular practise."

Fenris nodded. "I've neglected my own practise a little of late as well, what with everything else I'm currently busy with."

"How are your lessons with Anders going?" Sebastian asked curiously as the two of them walked out of the practise yard and started back toward the main keep.

"Surprisingly well. The mage is a much more patient teacher than Hawke was, and he has a knack for explaining things so that they make sense. Such as the sounds associated with each letter. We have recently moved on from my learning the alphabet to simple reading and writing."

"Cat, bat, rat and so forth?" Sebastian asked, just the faintest hint of an amused smile on his face.

"Yes. I was... surprised, at how simple the task is, once the basic letters are understood. Anders tells me that the more I read and write, the easier it will become to sort out the sounds of the words, until I can glance at a word and know what the entire sound of it is without having to puzzle out the sounds of each individual letter first."

Sebastian nodded. "He is right about that. It is easiest with the shortest words, of course, which is why books for chi... for beginners typically contain simple sentences made out of short words."

"Yes, and illustrations too, especially when they're meant for children," Fenris said, sounding faintly amused. A slight smile crossed his face. "Anders was rather worried at first that I'd be... upset, about being given children's books to work from. But in this skill I _am_ at the level of a child. It does not offend me."

"That's good," Sebastian said approvingly. "Some men are not so logical about the idea."

"I gathered that impression," Fenris said, one corner of his lips lifting in a crooked smile. "I believe Anders was worried that I'd be incensed enough to do what he currently persists in calling the 'glowy fist of doom thing' if he annoyed me."

Sebastian snorted. "The mage has an odd sense of humour at times," he observed.

"Yes, he does. Speaking of the mage, have you and he argued recently or something? You both seem... uneasy in each other's presence of late."

Sebastian frowned slightly, feeling a slight flush set in that he hoped Fenris would attribute to the cold if he noticed. He'd long since abandoned the idea that the mage and the elf might be involved, but was still uncomfortable that he'd even entertained the idea at all. "No, we haven't argued," he said. "Though I too have noticed that he seems unsettled of late. I'm not sure why, but he seems... nervous, at least around me. Unable to meet my eyes. It worries me; could he perhaps be doing something he knows I would disapprove of? And if so, what... have you noticed any unusual behaviour when you are with him?"

Fenris frowned and shook his head. "No. He seems fine most of the time. You're right that it's mainly around you that he seems nervous," he added, and frowned in thought for a while. "Come to my lesson with me," he suddenly suggested. "Unless you're busy?"

Sebastian gave him a mildly surprised look. "No, I actually have the rest of today free," he said. "Are you sure you want me to come along...?"

"Yes. Of late I only see the two of you together at lunch, which takes place in your rooms. Perhaps if I see the two of you together where he feels most comfortable, in his own place..."

"Ahh. You think it might give you some clue?"

Fenris shrugged. "Perhaps. It is worth trying, anyway."

Sebastian nodded, and the pair of them continued on around the side of the keep to the garden entrance. The men in the guardhouse were clearly used to seeing Fenris pass through, and nodded amiably to him before catching sight of their prince entering behind him and scrambling to their feet. Sebastian smiled and nodded to them, as he followed the elf through into Anders' garden.

* * *

The mage looked up from his table as Fenris entered the room, a welcoming smile crossing his face. Fenris saw his expression change the moment Sebastian stepped in behind him – startled for a moment, then wary, before it smoothed out to a faint, neutral smile.

Anders rose to his feet. "Fenris, Sebastian – is something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong," Sebastian said with an easy smile, then bent down to pet Ganwyn, who was bouncing around his feet in excited welcome. "I just happened to have the afternoon free, so I thought I'd accompany Fenris here for his lesson, and spend a little time with both of you, if that's all right?"

Anders nodded. "Of course. Let's go on upstairs," he said, gesturing toward the nearby stairs.

It was a word the two dogs knew well – Haelioni was surging to her feet and both dogs moving towards the stairs before any of the men moved. Ashes, who'd been curled up in the middle of the table, seemingly asleep, lifted his head and looked around, then jumped down and hurried after them, passing the dogs on the stairs.

Sebastian laughed, looking amused. "They're well-trained."

Anders snorted, a crooked smiled momentarily lifting his lips. "Not really. They just want to snag their favourite spots," he said, before turning away and leading the way up the stairs.

Haelioni was stretched out on her side in her current favourite place on the floor by the small fireplace, Ganwyn sitting up on one end of the couch he and Fenris usually shared, looking attentively toward the top of the stairs, and Ashes was sitting in the middle of the carpet, licking one paw.

Anders hurried over to sit down behind his desk, while Fenris headed over to the couch, reaching out to caress Ganwyn's head in passing before seating himself and pulling a small side-table over in front of him. Ganwyn immediately flopped down, resting his chin on the elf's thigh and looking soulfully up at him while Fenris reorganized the materials on top of the table he used as desk to his liking. Sebastian looked around and then walked over to sit down in a chair where he could see both men equally well.

"Would you prefer to start today with reading, or writing?" Anders asked.

"Writing, I think," Fenris said. Anders nodded, and picked up his own pen, quickly printing something on a sheet of parchment, then carried it over and set it down before Fenris before returning to his desk. Fenris uncapped his own bottle of ink, dipped his pen in it, and bent down over the sheet, laboriously copying the sentence Anders had written into one of the spaces presented by a series of ruled lines down the sheet, biting on his lower lip in concentration.

"So how are your talks about mages and freedom progressing?" Sebastian asked.

"Well enough," Anders said. "We've been making lists of things mages might be able to do to help others – not just big one-off things like helping with major construction projects, but little day-to-day things as well."

"Such as?" Sebastian asked interestedly.

Fenris glanced up, noting that Anders was avoiding looking at Sebastian, instead fiddling around with a pen and watching his own hands. He frowned slightly, then turned back to his writing, glancing frequently up at the other two.

"Well, one example... right now, if there are things you want to keep cold in warm weather, you have to rely on ice stored since the winter in ice-houses, right?"

"Aye, we do."

"Do they always hold enough ice to get you through until the next cold season?"

"Not always. It depends on how much ice is used, and how hot the weather gets," Sebastian said, leaning down to hold his hand out toward Ashes, palm down and fingers curled under. The cat paused in its washing, tongue still stuck out, and looked curiously at his hand before rising to its feet and walking over to sniff curiously at his fingers.

"Well, elemental mages can make new blocks of ice any time, with the right spells. So with the help of the right mages, you'd be able to have ice-houses that never ran out of ice, no matter how much ice you used up. And water is easier to move than solid blocks of ice are, so anywhere you needed a particularly large amount of ice, you could pipe water to the place and make the ice right there."

"That... might be useful, yes," Sebastian agreed, mulling over the idea as he dug his fingers into the long fur behind Ashes' ears, the cat purring loudly in appreciation at the attention.

Fenris concealed a smile, then glanced at Anders. Anders was watching Sebastian, he noticed, and was smiling as well. Until Sebastian sat back again, looking over toward Anders, and then the mage's attention was promptly turned elsewhere.

"Finished that page, Fenris?"

"Almost. Two more lines," Fenris said, and went back to work on it.

Ashes, abandoned by the prince, looked around for a moment, then suddenly leapt into the air, twisting so he came down facing the other direction and chased off at top speed to the far end of the room, coming to an abrupt stop near the top of the stairs, crouched down with legs outspread, ears back and eyes wide. Ganwyn and Haelioni raised their heads and looked at him curiously. His head twisted from side to side, then he charged back, sliding to a stop under a nearby chair, just his twitching tail still sticking out. All three men laughed, and the tail abruptly whisked out of sight as well.

"Does he often do that?" Sebastian asked, amused.

"When he's in the mood. He'll be back out chasing after something any moment now, just watch," Anders said, grinning widely. "He likes to keep all his toys hidden under there."

A moment later Ashes came charging out again, a bedraggled feather in his mouth. He abruptly stopped, dropping the feather, then pounced on it. Not a feather, Fenris realized, noticing the dark stain at the quill end – a pen. Anders and Sebastian fell silent, watching the cat playing with the quill pen, rolling around on his back, forepaws clasping it to his chest while he bit at the shaft and kicked it with his hind feet, little wisps floating free as his claws tore into the barbed vanes.

Anders snorted, then rose to his feet. "I'll be right back, I'm going to go make tea. Would either of you like some?"

"Please," Fenris said.

"Yes, please," Sebastian agreed.

As Anders walked by him Ashes leapt away from his feather, then made a studied show of cleaning his front until the mage was out of sight down the staircase. He looked around, ignoring the feather, then trotted over and disappeared back under the chair.

Fenris finished copying the sentence one last time, and pushed the sheet away, putting down his pen and flexing his hand. "It is hard to believe that some people write all day – it makes my hand ache after a while," he observed.

Sebastian shrugged, and stretched out his legs. "It is like any other exercise, do it for long enough and your muscles become used to it. Like how riding made your legs sore at first."

Fenris nodded slowly. Both men looked down as a crumpled ball of parchment came shooting out from under the chair, followed a moment later by the cat. It pounced, batting the ball further away, and streaked off after it, cat and prey disappearing out of sight behind the desk.

Sebastian smiled. "I hadn't realized cats could be such amusing companions," he observed. "I've never spent much time around them before."

Fenris nodded. "Nor I. They are rather charming little beasts, aren't they?"

"When they aren't being vicious little monsters," Sebastian agreed. "Most of the stable cats would sooner spit at you than allow you to pet them. Or claw you, if they took particular offence to the attempt."

Ashes came back into view around the desk, the crumpled ball being carried in its mouth. It stopped by Sebastian, and looked up at him, dropping the ball to the floor. Sebastian looked at Ashes in surprise, one eyebrow raising. "I think he wants to play fetch," he observed, then slid forward in his seat and bent down to pick up the ball. He flicked it away across the room, and Ashes turned end-over-end and streaked off after it. Ganwyn sat up, moving to perch on the edge edge of the seat and watching with ears lifted, whining softly.

"You want to play too, don't you boy?" Sebastian said, sounding amused, as Ashes trotted back over to him with the ball of parchment in his mouth, making excited little mewing sounds around it.

Ganwyn jerked and almost gave chase as well the second time Sebastian threw it for Ashes. The third time, the dog's control frayed entirely and he lunged off the couch, chasing after the parchment too. His entry to the game startled Ashes, who dodged aside, ears going flat, as the hound ran by him. Ganwyn snapped up the ball of paper, before turning back, head and ears raised, tail wagging vigorously and looking proud of himself. Sebastian laughed out loud, looking from the pleased dog to the cat, who had turned his back and was sitting rigidly upright, acting as if he's never been chasing the ball at all.

Anders came up the stairs, carrying a tray. "Whatever are you two doing up here," he asked. "Exercising a team of draft horses?"

Sebastian grinned at him. "Just playing with your pets," he said.

Anders snorted, taking in the tableau, then stepped around Ganwyn and walked over to the desk to set down his tray. Ganwyn promptly dropped the ball and followed after him, all but underfoot and looking excitedly up at the tray. Haelioni lifted her head again, then rose and also walked over to the desk, looking expectantly at the tray. Anders gave each dog a sizable strip of dried meat, which they carried off to separate corners of the room to settle down and gnaw on, then handed out mugs of tea to Sebastian and Fenris. He looked over Fenris' written page, nodding in approval. "Your printing is getting fairly good, as long as you have the line before you to copy. We'll be starting on spelling pretty soon at this rate."

"Spelling?" Fenris asked dubiously, before sipping at his tea.

"That's where instead of you having the words before you to copy, I tell you some words and you write down how you think they're spelled."

Fenris nodded in comprehension.

"Ready to do some reading?" Anders asked.

"Certainly," Fenris said.

Anders picked up a book from his desk and carried it over. "Here, try reading this," he said, opening it and putting it down on the table before Fenris, pointing at one page, then returned to take a seat at his desk again and pick up his own mug of tea.

Fenris frowned down at the printed words before him, working out the sounds. "Do you luh... _like_ fuh... fruh... fried mmm-mush and nug? I do not like tuh... them..." he paused, frowning over the next word. "Murr?"

"Sorry, that's a short way of writing out a longer word," Anders said. "It's spelled M-R but stands for the word 'mister'."

Fenris nodded. "Mister Kuh... Klug. I do not like fried mush and nug..." He paused, and looked up to frown at Anders. "Is this meant to be some kind of poem, mage?"

Anders nodded smiling slightly. "Yes. A dwarven poem for young dwarves. It has a lot if repetition in it, which makes it easier to read, and the presentation of the subject is considered humorous, so that it's more interesting to read."

"Other than sharing in a disinterest in eating either fried mush or any form of nug, I fail to find it interesting so far," Fenris said dryly.

Sebastian laughed, rising to his feet and walking over to retrieve the abandoned ball of paper. "I remember that poem. One of my nurses used to recite it to me when I was being picky about eating my food," he said, and walked back over to resume his seat. He smiled, turning the ball of paper around in his fingers, grimacing when he noticed part of it was damp with drool from being in Ganwyn's mouth, and dropped it back to the floor by his feet, then wiped his fingers dry on his leggings. "There was a song about nugs she used to sing sometimes, too. Something about sitting in the mud... she had a rather eclectic knowledge of children's rhymes and poetry. She knew all sorts of Dalish children's stories as well, or at least the common tongue translations of them. "

Anders snorted, and leaned back in his chair. "Having eaten both fried mush and nug, I'll agree that they don't rank particularly high on my list of personal favourite foods. But that aside, please continue with the reading, Fenris."

Fenris nodded and continued, working his way slowly through the remainder of the poem, until Mr Klug was down a hole with the despised food, a thug, a slug, and a bug.

"I would hope whatever you have me read next has greater literary merit," he said, closing the book and pushing it aside. Sebastian and Anders both laughed.

"Well, that should be enough writing and reading for today," Anders said.

Fenris nodded, and rose to his feet. "Thank you, Anders," he said, and looked at Sebastian. "Ready to go, or do you have more to discuss with Anders?"

"No, nothing at the moment," Sebastian said, rising to his own feet. Anders rose as well, and bid them farewell, then once they'd left began gathering up empty mugs, returning them to his tray. He stooped down and picked up the crumpled ball of parchment, made a face as he too noticed its drool-dampened condition, and tossed it at the fireplace, nodding in satisfaction when it landed squarely along the coals. He picked up the tray and headed back downstairs, dogs and cat following along behind.


	51. Mageborn

"Prince elf, prince elf!" an unfamiliar voice called.

Fenris frowned, and looked down at the raggedly-dressed elven woman hurrying alongside Ari. "I am no prince," he said sharply.

"Sorry, m'Lord... please, m'Lord, I must beg you for help..."

Fenris sighed and reined Ari to a stop. "I am no lord either. What help do you believe I can give you?"

The woman looked around, eyes wide and frightened, then stepped closer, hands knotting into the ends of the worn shawl draped around her narrow shoulders. "It's... it's my daughter... M'Lo... ser..." she stammered in a hissing whisper.

"What about your daughter?" he asked patiently.

She blinked, looking on the edge of tears. "She... she's mage-born, ser, just come into her powers... and... and I'm scared that someone might hurt her if they find out, or the templars come and take her away."

Fenris frowned. "You should take her to the chantry..." he began.

"Oh, please, ser... the chantry and all them templars frighten me! But I heard that... that the Prince has made a place for the mages, where they're kept safe?"

"He has," he agreed, nodding his head.

"Couldn't you take her there? I'd know she was safe if it was _you_ that took her away... oh, please, ser, she's so young..."

Fenris sighed. "How old is she?" he asked.

"Just going on five, ser."

"Five!" he exclaimed. That was young to be showing mage powers. And a dangerous age at which to have such, as well. He frowned, then nodded sharply. "I will help," he agreed. "Lead the way."

He swung down out of the saddle, leading his horse behind him as the woman hurried through the narrow streets and into the area designated as the alienage here in Starkhaven. It was one of the few cities he'd ever seen – granted, his experience of cities wasn't particularly wide – where the alienage seemed of equally good buildings as the human-inhabited areas. But then Sebastian had mentioned that much of the city had been rebuilt from scratch after a disastrous fire over a century ago, with the buildings by law having to be of stone construction with slate roofs, instead of the timber, wattle-and-daub, and thatch that were more normally used in much of the Free Marches. Doubtless the alienage had benefited from the reconstruction also.

The woman led the way over a doorway, and looked nervously at the horse, as if wondering whether or not the great beast would be coming indoors as well. Fenris dropped the reins to the ground, and touched Ari's nose. "Wait for me here," he told the horse, then turned and follow the woman inside.

The buildings might be of similar construction to that in the human areas, but he doubted the humans packed as many people into them as the elves did. The place was crowded with elves; he suspected that a space as large as he occupied by himself up at the castle would here house an entire extended family of elves. The woman led him all the way up to the top-most floor, a small garret room in the attic, lit by a pair of narrow dormer windows. Judging by the bedrolls stacked against one wall, it was occupied by at least five people – the woman and four children, it turned out, three boys and the girl, the eldest boy a teenager, the youngest perhaps a year or two older than the girl. All took after their mother, with black hair and dark blue eyes.

The mother took the girl's hand and led her over to Fenris. "This is her, ser... my Kyla."

The girl stared up at him, one finger stuck in her mouth – she was chewing nervously on it, her eyes big and frightened. Fenris frowned slightly. He'd had very little to do with children, and wasn't at all sure how to talk to them. Like an adult, he supposed. "Hello, Kyla," he said. "My name is Fenris. Your mother tells me you're a mage."

The girl nodded, eyes getting if anything slightly bigger and more frightened. His frown deepened, and he looked at the girl's mother for guidance. She seemed as distressed as the girl, now that she'd brought him here. "Does she have things? Clothing? A favourite toy?"

"She has a doll," the woman said, looking around distractedly. "Will... will she be allowed to keep it, ser?"

Fenris blinked. He didn't really know. "I will see that she is allowed to," he said. Surely he could do that much.

The woman nodded and began to move around the room, picking up some clothing and a tattered ragdoll – more rag than doll by the look of it. The little girl retreated to rejoin her brothers as soon as her mother moved away.

The eldest of the three boys abruptly stepped forward, moving between Fenris and the girl. "You're going to take Kyla away?" he asked belligerently.

"Yes. Your mother asked me too."

The boy scowled. "I don't trust you. You're no prince! Elves don't have princes!"

"I never said I was a prince," Fenris pointed out mildly. "Other people call me that. I don't like it."

The boy's scowl deepened. "Then why do you let them?"

Fenris snorted. "Because I can't stop them."

"Oh," the boy said, and frowned.

"Why not? You could kill them with that big sword, couldn't you?" asked the youngest boy.

Fenris felt one corner of his mouth twitch in an amused smile. "I wish it were that easy. But I would have to kill a great many people."

"Stupid!" hissed the middle brother, which started an argument with lots of name-calling and shoving between the two.

The mother returned at last, and handed Fenris a small bundle. "Here's her things, ser... I can't thank you enough... you'll see she's safe?"

"Yes. She'll go to where the mages can help her learn how to use her powers safely," he assured the mother.

She nodded her head, looking fearful, and drew Kyla forward again. The girl looked even more frightened, then abruptly started to cry, terrible sobbing wails. The mother and the eldest boy hurriedly tried to comfort her. It took them several minutes, at the end of which she was clinging tightly to the boy, watching Fenris fearfully.

The boy looked up at Fenris. "You'll really take her somewhere safe?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes, as I told your mother," Fenris said, and looked again at the girl. However was he going to get her out of here and to - wherever he should take her... the chantry? The castle? – if she was scared to go with him. He didn't imagine that carrying a crying girl child through the streets would be inconspicuous. And what if she became frightened enough to use her mage powers?

"Could... could I come, and see where she goes? So I know she really is somewhere safe?" the boy asked worriedly, and darted a glance at his mother. "She'll stay quiet for me, I look after the others while mam is out working..."

Fenris frowned. That would solve the problem of keeping the girl quiet, certainly... and... well, why not, it couldn't hurt for the girl's family to know she really was somewhere nice, and safe. He smiled at the boy. "Can you leave for several days? The place for mages isn't here in the city, so I'll have to take her to people who will see she gets there safely. I can arrange for them to take you there as well, and then bring you back, but it may take several days."

The boy looked worried again, then looked down at Kyla, who was looking at him with a big-eyed pleading look, then at his mother, who looked frightened but nodded agreement. The boy looked at Fenris and nodded. "I can, yes," he agreed.

"All right. What's your name?"

"Gevin."

"All right, Gevin, get some clothes for yourself as well, and we'll go."

The boy nodded and scrambled around, grabbing some clothes from a pile, bundling them together and then hurrying back over, taking Kyla by the hand. Their mother hugged the two, and Fenris and the two children went back down the stairs and outside.

Ari was waiting patiently where he'd left him. He eyed the stallion, then the two children, and scowled slightly as he realized he was going to have to walk. Or perhaps not... the stallion was large, and the children were small. Ari could doubtless carry all three of them without difficulty.

The children were nervous about the idea at first, but once Fenris had mounted, Gevin lifted Kyla up where he could reach her and lift her to sit in front of him, and she crowed with delight at finding herself so high above the ground. Ari flicked one ear at the noise, but otherwise remained as still as a rock. Fenris reached down and pulled Gevin up next, the boy wiggling in between him and the girl as Fenris eased a little further back in the saddle.

"Hold on to your sister tightly," Fenris warned. "I will have Ari move slowly, but I don't want either of you to fall."

They both nodded, looked big-eyed with excitement, and he gently nudged Ari into a slow walk, turning him away from the house. The big horse calmly picked his way through the streets, and back uphill toward the distant castle.

Gevin started looking nervous as the horse proceeded up the hill, out of the lower city and through the wider avenues of the upper city. "Where are we going?" he asked in a small, frightened voice.

"To the castle. I live there."

"But you're not a prince...?"

Fenris smiled. "No. I am not a prince. But Prince Vael is my friend, and I live in his house. It is he that gave me this horse, and this armour."

"Oh," the boy said, looking impressed.

"It's a pretty horse," Kyla piped up, leaning forward to pat Ari's neck. "It looks just like you. What's its name?"

Fenris smiled. " Arianblaidd. But I call him Ari."

"That's a nice name," the girl said approvingly, then settled back, looking around without the least trace of fear as they approached the castle gates. The guards looked a little dubiously at the two children, but let Fenris through without question – they knew that both the Prince and their captain trusted the elf implicitly.

Fenris had slowed Ari and was puzzling over whether to follow his normal of routine of riding Ari around to the stable, or to stop and do... something... with the children first, when he spotted Sebastian standing near the steps up to the main doors, talking with a small group of nobles. Saying farewell, it appeared – he smiled and said something to them, and they nodded, then turned and walked away. Sebastian turned to watch them, and caught sight of Fenris, his eyebrows flying upwards as he noticed the two elven children perched in front of the warrior.

He grinned, and walked over. "What's this, Fenris? Bringing me guests?" he called out as he approached.

Fenris smiled slightly. "Of a sort, yes," he said. "This is Kyla and her brother Gevin," he said, then lowered his voice so only Sebastian could hear his next words. "Kyla is mage-born. I have promised their mother to see she is sent safely to the circle."

Sebastian nodded in comprehension. "And the boy?"

"Along to see that his sister is well-treated and not frightened, and what the place she is being sent to is like. I have promised him that I will see to it that he can go there with her to see the place, and will be brought back to the city afterwards."

Sebastian nodded approvingly at Gevin. "You are a good brother to your little sister," he said, then smiled charmingly at Kyla. "May I help you down from your fine steed, Lady Kyla?" he asked.

The girl giggled and smiled, and when Sebastian raised his arms, slid happily down Ari's shoulder. He caught her and lowered her to the ground, then helped Gevin down, with somewhat more dignity. Fenris reluctantly dismounted and handed Ari over to one of the servants to be led off to the stable. He much preferred to look after his mount himself, but supposed that today he'd need to make an exception.

Sebastian picked up Kyla, who was fascinated by his fine clothing, and turned to walk into the castle, Gevin and Fenris following, the boy carrying their bundles. "Is it really okay for us to go in here?" Gevin asked anxiously as they climbing the stairs and went through the door, the guards at it looking as impassive as if it was perfectly normal for their prince to walk by with a couple of ragged children.

"Of course it is," Sebastian said. "Fenris wouldn't have brought you here if it wasn't okay."

"Oh," the boy said, nervously, and edged closer to Fenris, looking around with equal parts wonder and fear as they entered the big entry hall inside, the floor of fine polished stone, the walls plastered and painted a smooth gleaming white, hung with colourful banners, a huge unlit chandelier dominating the space between the curving arms of the staircase that led higher into the keep.

Sebastian paused for a moment, looking back at Fenris. "There's another shipment of supplies leaving for the circle keep in four days, if I remember correctly," he said, then looked down at Gevin. "Can you wait that long?"

"I... I don't know," the boy said anxiously.

Sebastian smiled kindly at him. "In that case I'll see if they can move it up and leave tomorrow or the day after instead. Would that be better?"

"I... yes. You can really do that?" Gevin asked, sounding surprised.

"Of course," Sebastian said. "Well then, you two will need a room to stay in for at least one night, perhaps two," he said. "And how about a nice bath, and then you can join Fenris and I and a friend of ours for lunch."

He resumed walking, heading over to a staircase and upstairs. "I think the room next to yours would be good, Fenris – so the children are near someone they know."

Fenris nodded, glad that Sebastian had taken over organizing things. "That sounds good," he agreed.

Sebastian gestured to a passing maidservant as they walked down the hallway, and quickly gave a rapid-fire string of instructions. She nodded repeatedly, then gave him a quick little bow when he'd finished. "Yes, m'Lord," she said, and hurried off.

By the time Sebastian reached the room he wanted, a servant was already there putting fresh bedding on the bed. The children stared in big-eyed wonder at the room – palatial, compared to their attic garret, though only in the mid-range of what was available for guests in the castle, Fenris knew.

"All right. The servants will fill the bath for you and bring you some good clothes to wear. Fenris' room is the first door to your left if you go out in the hallway here. And he'll come back in a little while to bring the two of you to have lunch with us. All right?"

The two nodded. A matronly maidservant arrived just then, and Sebastian introduced her and the children before leaving them in her care, Fenris following him out of the room.


	52. Little Charmer

The two were much transformed by their bath and change of clothes. It was just simple clothing such as the servants themselves wore, but judging by Kyla's excitement, the plain dark blue cloth dress she was wearing was the nicest thing she'd ever owned. Gevin was wearing a tunic of the same blue, and black leggings, and looking if anything even more nervous than before.

"Come along, this way," Fenris said, and led the way down the hallway and up the stairs. Kyla was clearly delighted by the elegant decor in the upper hallway, while Gevin looked even more ill at ease. He abruptly stopped as they came in sight of the guarded doorway to Sebastian's rooms.

"That man who brung us upstairs – the woman, that maid, she told us he's the prince himself. Is that true?" he asked, sounding equal parts disbelieving and frightened.

"Yes, he is," Fenris said. "Come, he's expecting us for lunch."

The boy stood frozen for a long moment, then took a deep breath and resumed walking. "You weren't lying when you said he was your friend, then."

Fenris snorted. "No. I wasn't lying," he agreed, then nodded to the guards, who opened the door to let him and the children into Sebastian's rooms.

Sebastian was standing near the table, which had an extra two chairs and place-settings at it today. Kyla made an appreciative, awed sound as she took in the beautiful, large, well-lit room, while Gevin went pale. Sebastian smiled welcomingly.

"Lady Kyla! Ser Gevin! So good of you to grace us with your presence – may I help you to a seat, my lady?" he asked, eyes sparkling. Kyla giggled and ran forward, and let Sebastian help her into a chair.

"Is he making fun of us?" Gevin hissed at Fenris.

Fenris concealed a smile and answered quietly. "No. He's just making your sister feel happy about being here. Having fun, not making fun."

Gevin nodded, and followed Fenris across the room, sticking close to his side, nervously taking the seat beside his sister. Fenris sat down beside him, and Sebastian beside Kyla, and the two began to serve both themselves and the children.

The bedroom door opened and Anders walked in, Ashes in his arms. He stopped abruptly at the sight of the two children, then looked questioningly at Sebastian. "We have guests?" he asked.

Sebastian grinned. "Aye," he said, and nodded at the two in turn. "This is Lady Kyla, who is stopping here on her way to the circle keep, and her brother Ser Gevin, who is here to see that she reaches it safely. And this is Anders, another of my friends," Sebastian told the two.

Fenris was looking Anders direction when Sebastian spoke, and therefore caught the surprised and pleased look that momentarily lit Anders' face when Sebastian referred to him as a friend. Interesting, he thought.

Anders moved to take his seat at the table, Ashes jumping down from his arms to sniff curiously at the dishes. "There must be fish again," Anders observed, and picked up the cat, firmly moving him off the table and back into his own lap, where the cat sat peering over the table edge and continuing to sniff interestedly at the air.

Kyla giggled in delight – she seemed quite easy to amuse, since she'd stopped being frightened. Anders grinned at her as he checked under the assorted lids and piled several things on his plate, before finally locating the fish. He carefully deboned some and began feedings bits to Ashes with his fingers. Kyla watched interestedly as she ate her own lunch. Using her fingers, though Gevin used cutlery. Fenris supposed it must be a skill the young girl hadn't picked up yet.

"So Lady Kyla is a mage?" Anders asked casually, glancing at the two children.

Gevin nodded nervously. "Yes ser. She... she got frightened bad by a drunk man a while back, and then he just fell asleep. And sometimes when she's scared she makes other people scared too."

"Ahh, entropic magic," Anders said. "That's rare in someone so young. Can you do other things, Kyla?"

"Like what?" she asked interestedly.

"Well, have you ever seen someone get hurt, and made them get better? Or done something like this?" he asked, and raised one hand. Flames flickered around his hand for a moment. Kyla laughed and bounced in her seat, while Gevin looked frightened for a moment.

"She's never done anything like that, or healing either, not that I've seen," Gevin said faintly. "You... you're a mage?"

"Yes," Anders said, smiling affably at him. "Mainly I heal people, but I know some other odds and ends of things as well. Like this," he said, and this time little lines of lightening crackled between his fingertips, drawing a delighted squeal from Kyla and another startled look from Gevin.

"Can I do that?" Kyla asked.

"I don't know, can you?" Anders asked.

Kyla scrunched up her nose in thought. "Don't know how," she declared after a minute.

"Well, maybe you'll learn, at the circle," Anders told her, smiling warmly at her.

The rest of lunch passed agreeably, and the three men ended up spending the first half of the afternoon with the two children. Gevin, once he'd gotten over his initial nervousness, spent most of his time sitting with Fenris, the two of them watching Kyla charming Sebastian and Anders while Gevin quizzed Fenris about what a circle was, and what the place his sister would be taken to was like, and similar questions.

Fenris found himself smiling, watching the other two men making much of the little elvhen girl. She was currently ensconced on Anders' lap, leaning forward and giggling while she squeezed Sebastian's nose. Every time she squeezed it he'd make another silly noise, and she'd giggle, clapping her hands over her mouth, before reaching out and squeezing it again. Anders was grinning widely, and both men seemed to have entirely forgotten how uneasy they'd become in each other's company for the past several weeks as they sat knee-to-knee and amused the little girl.

Eventually Sebastian decided it was time to send the children back off to their room. He summoned a maidservant to take them back, promising to see them again later.

"What a lovely little girl," he said, turning back to the other two after the doors had closed behind them. "She'll be a real charmer when she grows up."

Fenris smiled. "She's a real little charmer already," he observed. "She had both of you wrapped around her finger."

Sebastian laughed, and Anders grinned. "Perhaps she did," the prince agreed, then suddenly frowned. "I am glad we have a good circle forming here," he said abruptly. "I like not the thought of what might have happened to such a child, had she been found somewhere like Kirkwall."

Anders nodded, face quickly sobering. "Yes. Do you know, this is the first time I've seen someone that young being sent off to a tower where I _haven't_ feared for them? I can actually _believe_ that Knight-Commander Lawrence and First Enchanter Elisa will see that she's properly protected and cared for."

Fenris nodded. "I, too, am glad that there are people we can trust running the circle here," he said, then tilted his head thoughtfully. "And I am glad her brother will be able to go with her, and see that she is somewhere safe, and that she is not frightened by being taken away from her family too suddenly."

Anders nodded slowly. "You know... that should be the rule, not the exception. Apart from the chantry's desire to cut off mage-born children from any outside contact, to make it harder for them to run away, there isn't any _reason_ why the mage-born can't remain in contact with their family, is there? Ideally they'd even be able to return to their family once they'd learned how to control their skills and been harrowed. Or perhaps not even leave their family at all, if there was some way to teach them where they were..."

Fenris frowned. "I can foresee problems with that. Many skills are dangerous when they are new, like that little trick you did with the flames earlier. Better to put mages somewhere safe while they're at the stage of being dangerous due to lack of skill."

"Mmm, perhaps you're right," Anders conceded. "We'll have to think on it more."

"Yes, but another time," Sebastian said. "I should get back to work, and aren't you both late for Fenris' reading lesson?"

Anders nodded, and rose to his feet, the two of them bidding Sebastian farewell before heading out to Anders' cottage.


	53. Awkward Lunch

Anders paused when he saw there was only two chairs at the table. "No Fenris today?" he asked, surprised.

Sebastian looked up from serving himself and shook his head. "No. He decided to accompany Kyla and Gevin to the circle and see her settled in before bringing her brother back. He won't be back before late tomorrow at the earliest."

Anders nodded and moved to take his seat, abruptly feeling self-conscious again, a feeling that had faded over the past two days with the children there. He quickly served himself and settled down to eat.

This was, he realized, the first time he'd been alone with Sebastian for a meal since Fenris had arrived. And they hadn't exactly been in the habit of sitting at table prior to that, apart from the brief time when he'd been recovering here in Sebastian's suite, sleeping on a bed in the corner of the prince's room... not memories he particularly wished to dwell on, apart from a few brief highlights like seeing Sebastian naked after a bath, and _Maker_ but that really wasn't a mental image he needed at the moment, either.

He concentrated on his plate, and on Ashes, whom there was no fish to share with today, but the cat was pleased to accept slivers of chicken as an acceptable substitute. After a while he glanced up and found Sebastian studying him. He flushed and looked away, mentally damning the flush and his fair complexion as he did. When he looked back again, Sebastian was frowning down at his own plate, looking almost equally ill at ease.

"So, umm... how did that meeting with the guildmasters go the other day?" Anders asked, looking for any safe subject on which the two of them might start to talk.

"Oh, the one about helping craftsmen to re-establish themselves? Quite well, they've located a handful of master craftsmen and a wide assortment of journeymen and apprentices. Some of them will be taking on some of the apprentices or journeymen themselves, though the masters looking to re-establish themselves here will have first selection of anyone else in their discipline, since they'll have greater need of such. One joiner has already opened a small shop, and by spring several other of the masters will hopefully be able to open their doors as well. The main problem, it seems, has been finding room for them to set up shops; with the city as packed with people as it is, there are very few large enough places unoccupied. The new area of the city will help with that, but it will be at least summer before anything is far enough along there for people to begin moving in; at the moment it is little more than sewers dug and streets laid out, and a few foundations begun. Work cannot resume until the snows melt in the spring. Which thankfully should not be much longer; another two or three weeks at most, unless we have a longer-than-usual winter."

Anders nodded, pleased to hear that his suggestion was working out. Silence fell over the pair again.

"How are things in the clinic?" Sebastian asked after a while.

"Quite well. We've had a few people in with the usual winter complaints – colds and so on. A rather nasty broken leg, after someone slipped on a patch of ice and fell down a flight of stair. He's staying in the clinic for a while, I want to be sure the bone has begun to knit properly before he gets moved around too much."

Silence again. Anders finished his food, and pushed aside his plate. "Well, I should go. I guess with Fenris away I have the afternoon to myself for once."

Sebastian nodded. Anders rose, picking up Ashes, and started to leave.

"Anders..." Sebastian called just as he was about to disappear through the bedroom door.

"Yes?" he asked, turning back.

Sebastian had a slight frown on his face. "Join me for dinner this evening as well, would you? I could use the company."

Anders blinked. "Oh. Sure," he said hesitantly, then turned and left.

* * *

Sebastian wasn't sure why he'd made the invitation. It was true he'd prefer to have company; he'd gotten used to having someone to talk to over his food, since Fenris had shown up, and didn't relish the thought of returning to solitary meals for the couple of days that Fenris was away, but still... It wasn't like he and Anders got along particularly well, especially of late, and lunch today had certainly been one of the less comfortable meals he'd had in a long time.

Odd, especially given how comfortable a dining companion Anders had been when he'd been staying here in Sebastian's suite, and on many occasions since. Even as recently as when they'd been celebrating news of Aveline's pregnancy, he'd been at his ease. Sebastian had _enjoyed_ talking with him that evening after Fenris had left, finding out a little of how surprisingly much the two of them had in common in their misspent youths.

Maybe it was just that he hoped Anders would relax this evening and be more his old self again... not his old Kirkwall self, no, but that younger, happier Anders he'd had a glimpse of that night. The one he'd wished he'd had a chance to know, in place of the bitter fanatic that Anders had become when merged with Justice.

He sighed and rose from the table, heading off to his study to take care of some more work. At worst it would be another uncomfortable meal. But perhaps the pair of them would relax a little, be able to find that shared camaraderie they'd begun to slip into before Anders became so blighted _nervous_ in his company. He really wished he knew what was causing that, and hoped whatever the answer was, it had an _innocent_ explanation. He liked the man too much now to be sanguine about the possibility about having to punish or, even worse, execute him, if the mage had been foolish enough to return to his vigilante ways.

He made a face when he saw the pile of paperwork waiting on his desk. Anyone who thought being a prince was all pomp and parties had never thought about how much sheer bloody-minded _work_ was involved in running something as large as a country. At least Starkhaven was a small enough country – little more than a good-sized city-state and the lands surrounding it for a few days ride in every direction – that he could do much of it without having to rely on an elaborate system of subsidiary rulers, as they did in places like Orlais or Ferelden. Oh, true, there were other nobles, but by the standards of larger lands they were very minor nobles indeed; about the equivalent of the Banns in Ferelden, he supposed, most having little more than a single good-sized manor house, overseeing a village or two and its lands somewhere out in the country, and a fashionable townhouse in the upper city.

He noticed, too, that there was a small stack of crumpled parchments off to the side. He hesitated, thinking of looking through them first, then decided he'd get some real work done first and look at them as a reward for good behaviour.

It was several hours later before he tiredly pushed aside the work he'd completed so far, and rang for tea to be brought for him. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes, then remembered the smaller stack and pulled it close. Judging by the little holes and tears in several pages, the servant had remembered what he'd recently mentioned about being sure to check under furniture, and retrieved several sheets that had been in use as cat-toys. He skimmed through the written pages first, happy to see nothing worse than some of Fenris' writing exercises and another page of doggerel. Some pretty imagery in it about snow, at least. His tea arrived just then. He motioned for the servant to place it on a nearby table, and finished going through the written sheets, before carrying them over to consign them to the fire. He stopped on the way back to the desk, pouring himself some tea and selecting a large spiced cookie from the assortment of nibblements on the tray, then walk back to the desk, and settled down to look over the sketches.

Plenty of drawings of Ashes and the dogs, of course, as well as a tabby-marked tom that had appeared in his sketches before, here pictured clawing at a horrified-looking and horrific monster – darkspawn of some sort, Sebastian supposed, having had no real experience of the creatures himself, for which he was devoutly grateful. A rather nice study of Fenris and Ari which made Sebastian smile; it showed them in profile, just their heads and necks, the elf presumably standing on the ground beside the horse based on relative positions. He turned to the next page, one rather thoroughly hole-punched by the cat's teeth and claws, and found himself blushing. The middle of the page was dominated by a male torso, roughly sketched in from mid-thigh up to the beginning of the jaw-line, in what was clearly an, err... very _excited_ state. At least it was a broad-shouldered human torso, not the narrow one of an elf, and completely lacking in the curving lines of tattoos that he knew covered much of Fenris' body. So probably meant to be Hawke, or some earlier lover of the mage's.

He started to turn the page over, then found himself putting it back down and frowning thoughtfully at it instead. Just why was he so relieved it wasn't of Fenris, anyway? Granted he'd already decided he was imagining things after his initial suspicion that Anders was interested in their handsome friend, why did he feel such relief at this further indication that it was not in any elvish direction that Anders' thoughts were tending?

Unless... no. He firmly dismissed the chain of thought from his mind, and turned over the sheet, looking at the third and final page.

A rather good drawing of him, in the upper left, reclining back in his chair with his feet up and crossed on a footstool, hands cupped around a large glass. He smiled, identifying the scene at a glance – the night they'd sat together, drinking and talking until late. And sure enough, there was a drawing of Fenris further down the page, stretched out at ease on his side, up on one elbow, other hand cupping a glass of dark wine, head tilted back and turned to the side to look away from the viewer, a slight smile just barely visible on his face. The rest of the page was the usual mix of cats and dogs. Sebastian smiled again at the portrait of himself. Anders really did have a bit of a talent for drawing. The perspective and foreshortening were quite excellently done.

He put the pages away in his desk, and returned to work, soon forgetting his musing over the drawings in the complex intricacies of working out just how to get two of his more recalcitrant nobles working together.


	54. A Sudden Stumble

Sebastian found his eyebrows raising just slightly when Anders showed up for dinner. The man had obviously put a little effort into his dress for the evening. Recently bathed and smelling just slightly of balsam, he was dressed modestly, but with an excellent choice of colours – russet woollen leggings, low indoor boots in dark brown leather. a cream-coloured linen shirt, the golden Dalish scarf draped around his neck. His nails were neatly trimmed, cheeks freshly shaved, his hair combed smooth and caught back in his habitual short ponytail.

It made Sebastian sharply aware of his own rather more unkempt state after an afternoon spent pouring over papers; he hadn't even changed his rather wrinkled shirt or combed his hair since leaving his desk, and knowing his own propensity for working his fingers through it when absorbed in a problem, he had little doubt that his own hair was currently a tousled mess. Too late to do anything about it now. He nodded in greeting to the mage, and moved to take his usual seat. Anders moved to sit as well, and they silently served themselves, both uncomfortable without Fenris' ameliorating presence.

Sebastian neatly cut into his steak, eating a mouthful of that and of his vegetables, before finally glancing across the table at Anders again. The mage was looking down at his cat, feeding it a bit of something. The warm candlelight – it already being dark enough out to require additional illumination – gilded his skin, and brought out the gold highlights in his hair, the richer gold of the scarf around his neck. Then the mage glanced up, meeting Sebastian's eyes for a moment before they both hastily looked away from each other.

He was surprised to feel himself flushing slightly, and snuck a quick glance at the mage, surprised and yet at the same time obscurely pleased to see a tinge of colour on the other man's cheeks as well. If _he_ was going to feel uncomfortable about dining alone with Anders, it was somehow fitting that the other man be just as unsettled. He lifted his wine glass, taking a generous sip of it, and turned back to his food.

"Do you like the wine?" he asked, noticing Anders sip from his glass as well.

"It's quite nice, yes," Anders agreed hastily, and took a second drink as if to prove the point.

"It's from one of my own estates," Sebastian said, feeling pleased. "Though this particular vintage was bottled years before the place ever became mine. The white we'll be having with dessert is also from one of my estates."

Anders nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on his own plate. Silence fell again as the two men ate, Sebastian lingering over his food while Anders ate with almost workmanlike concentration, a Grey Warden warding off his hunger. The mage ate at least two large helpings of everything to Sebastian's single more modest serving. The main meal over with, Sebastian rose to his feet, and moved to a chair near the fire, indicating for Anders to take a nearby chair. A low table stood between the two, with two small plates covered with high-domed lids, a small wine bottle resting in a container with a bit of loose snow melting in the bottom to keep it chilled, and two large goblets. Anders raised his eyebrows as he took his seat.

Sebastian lifted the bottle, wiping it dry with a cloth, then carefully set about uncorking it. "This is a very rare wine, we only produce a small quantity of it each year. We call it winter wine, since it requires leaving the grapes to freeze on the vine through much of the winter before they are harvested and pressed. Most of the production goes here, to the castle, and only a small amount is put up for sale within Starkhaven or for shipment abroad."

He poured a little into each goblet, then returned the bottle to its snow-chilled container. "It is very sweet. We're having it served with with another delicacy, a rich cake made with butter, eggs, cream, and cacao imported all the way from the Donarks. The cake has a dark, bitter taste that goes well with the sweet wine," he explained, lifted the lid on his own plate to reveal a dark brown wedge of something with a decidedly un-cake-like texture to it.

Anders lifted the lid on his own plate, leaning forward to sniff carefully at it, then cautiously used the side of his fork to cut loose and eat a tiny bit of his. His eyes widened in surprised pleasure. Sebastian concealed a smile as he took a bite of his own cake, savouring the melting texture and rich, dark flavour before chasing it with a tiny sip of the sweet wine.

A silence settled over the room, but this time it was not an uncomfortable one; rather it was the companionable silence of two men paying proper attention to a rare treat. Sebastian found himself watching Anders, enjoying the pleased expression on the other man's face almost as much as he was enjoying his own serving of dessert. Eventually Anders settled back in his chair with a little sigh, cupping his glass in both hands and looking relaxed and happy. If he was a cat, Sebastian thought, the man would be purring.

He picked the bottle back up, and topped up his own glass then held it out toward Anders and raised an eyebrow. The man hastily held his glass where Sebastian could pour more of the sweet wine into it.

"Thank you, that was... incredible," Anders said. "I've heard of cacao, but I've never actually had any."

Sebastian nodded. "It is in much demand, and only a very small supply of it ever makes it this far southeast; most of it goes to Tevinter and Orlais. Antiva also imports some, and it is from there that we in turn obtain some small amount. Between the cake and the wine, you're enjoying a dessert that very few men in all of Thedas can afford to partake in. Though at least since the winery is my own, some cost is saved," Sebastian added, grinning cheerfully.

Anders snorted, and smiled crookedly. "I have a feeling I don't want to know how much this dessert was worth."

"Probably not," Sebastian agreed, leaning back comfortably in his own seat. They resumed their previous silence. It was unexpectedly nice to just be sitting together like this, their earlier uneasiness at least temporarily dispelled. Anders was leaning his head against the wing-back of his chair and contemplating the fire, sipping occasionally at his wine, while Sebastian found himself contemplating the mage.

He found himself again thinking what an attractive man Anders was. Especially like this, lit only by firelight and a few candles, eyes wide and dark, a faint flush on his cheeks. He'd look such a way when roused in passion, the prince found himself thinking, and his mind sketched in a memory of the man working shirtless in the garden, the slender yet muscular body hidden under those clothes. Naked in a bath, as Sebastian cleaned him. Relaxed in sleep, his face unexpectedly younger and more vulnerable looking. Sebastian shifted slightly in his chair, feeling himself flush slightly as a part of his own body put in a completely unexpected twitch of approval at the direction of his thoughts. _Not_ appropriate thoughts to entertain about the other man, he sternly reminded himself. Not least because of his own vows of chastity, that forbade him from any such relationship.

He frowned and stared down into his own glass of wine. And if he was released from his vows? What then? No, the mage would still be an inappropriate person to become... _involved_ with. Not when he was Sebastian's prisoner. Not when he'd become so emotionally fixated on Sebastian. Not when he was the mage who'd destroyed the Kirkwall chantry, killing so many, including Grand-Cleric Elthina.

For once the thought of Kirkwall and Elthina's terrible death didn't raise any anger in Sebastian's heart. _That_ disturbed him... had he forgotten so easily the evil this man had done? And yet... it was not that he'd _forgotten_ , or even that he'd forgiven, but... he could _understand_ the sequence of events, the terrible pressures the mage had been under both internally and externally, that had seemingly led to him taking such a mad course of action.

He drank the wine remaining in his glass, and lifted the bottle to finish off the little left in it, pouring half into his own glass, then leaning over to offer the remainder to Anders. The mage had curled his long legs up on the seat at some point while Sebastian was lost in thought. Their eyes met as Sebastian poured, his hand trembling just slightly as he took in the mage's flushed cheeks, the way the gold scarf brought out his eyes and hair. Anders bit at his lower lip and glanced away, and Sebastian found himself rather desperately longing to rise to his feet, to step over and lean down, and taste that lip, that mouth, for himself.

He forced his breathing to remain steady as he put down the empty bottle and picked his glass back up. "I wonder how Fenris' trip to the circle keep is going. They should have arrived before dark, even with the waggons travelling slower in the snow."

Anders nodded. "I hope so. And I hope Kyla likes it there. It surprised me, you know, finding out how good you are with children."

Sebastian smiled warmly, settling back in his chair again. "I wasn't always. But one of my earliest duties after joining the chantry was to act as escort for one of the healer-priests – terrible old woman, all the friendliness of a cast iron frying pan. She did do rather a lot of good work among the poor in Lowtown; attending births and so on. Not having any real role in such an, ah... _intimate_ moment of a woman's life, I was invariably told to go keep an eye on whatever children might be in the house while priest and expectant mother were occupied. Some of them had alarmingly _large_ families, and as I'm sure you know births can takes hours, even days, to occur. I ended up getting a lot of on-the-job practise at looking after small children and keeping them amused."

Anders snorted, and smiled slightly. "Sounds like quite the learning experience."

"Yes. Just one of many I had in my years with the chantry. I sometimes think Grand-Cleric Elthina took a special pleasure in assigning me to things that she knew I'd have no prior experience of."

Anders expression sobered, and he looked down at his nearly-empty glass. Sebastian mentally castigated himself for reminding the man of what he'd done, of the woman he'd killed.

"Well, I suppose it's getting late enough that we should call it a night," he said.

Anders nodded, drank off the last mouthful in his glass and put it aside. They both rose to their feet, and started back over to the door.

The _bedroom_ door, Sebastian's libido treacherously reminded him, and he found himself flushing with both embarrassment and confused arousal. They walked into the room, then Anders turned, starting to say something to him, only to trip over the edge of the carpet with a startled whoop.

Sebastian caught him, by the arm, yanking him back upright, the mage stumbling against him from the force of his pull, and his arms automatically closed around him to steady him. Anders looked at him, eyes first wide and startled, and then frightened, and then the mage learned forward and kissed him.

He froze in shocked surprise, then his arms tightened further around the mage, leaning into him hungrily, invading his mouth, tasting the sweetness of the winter wine and a faint trace of bitter cacao still lingering there, feeling his rapidly growing arousal at the press of the other man's body against him, somehow only distantly surprised to feel that Anders was aroused as well.

They bumped into the wall, and for a moment they pressed the length of their bodies together, knees pressing between parted thighs, mouths still locked together. His left hand rose to cup the other man's chin, tilting his head gently to a better angle, their kiss deepening. And then, abruptly, all his prior thoughts about how _wrong_ this was returned, and he released the mage, bracing his right hand against the wall and pushing himself away, his left hand sliding down from Anders' chin to rest on the join of neck and shoulder, feeling the mage's pulse fluttering beneath his touch.

He stared into Anders' wide-blown, startled amber eyes for a long moment, then turned his head to the side, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the wall. For a timeless moment they both stood very still, so close together that he was achingly aware of the warmth of Anders' body so close to his, his nostrils filled with the scent of balsam and a faint muskiness that was the man himself, his fingertips feeling the surging pulse in the mage's throat, the bob of his adam's apple as Anders swallowed nervously, the faint rasp of his breathing.

He swallowed heavily. It would be so easy to turn his head, to close the slight distance between their heads, nuzzle into that bright red-gold hair, press kisses to the mage's smooth-shaven cheek, down the pale column of his throat, taste that wine-sweetened mouth again. To lead him over to the bed, so close at hand, and lose himself in wanton enjoyment, indulge in carnal pleasures such as he had not been allowed in many long years. With absolute clarity he knew the mage would not resist, that his finery tonight and his recent uneasiness and blushes were all because Anders _wanted_ such attentions. _Desired_ Sebastian.

As Sebastian desired him.

He drew a deep breath, trembling with his need and the war for self-control, shaken by the added surge of desire he felt as that breath drew in more of the man's clean scent. His hand moved away from the mage's throat, rising to lightly touch his cheek before dropping to hang at Sebastian's side.

"Go," he rasped out, turning himself to the side, opening space for the mage to move away from where he stood trapped between Sebastian and the wall. "Before I forget my vows."

Anders said nothing, just looked away, and then went, vanishing out of Sebastian's sight. Sebastian waited until he heard the hidden door close, then turned further, his back pressed against the wall, and slid slowly down it to sit on the floor, knees up, elbows resting on them and fingers buried in his hair.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Or swear. Nothing sufficed. So he sat in silence instead, ignoring the aching tightness in his groin as it slowly faded, and wishing the ache in his heart and the confusion in his mind would subside as readily.


	55. Aftermath

Anders was weeping by the time he stumbled out of the closet at the bottom of the stairs, closing the door behind him with shaking hands. He dropped onto the bed, curling up into a ball and pressing his hands over his face, struggling to bring his too-rapid breathing back under control.

Andraste's flaming _ass_ , how could he have been so _stupid!_

Bad enough to be so inappropriately attracted to Sebastian, without actually _kissing_ the man! So he'd inadvertently ended up in the man's arms for a moment. He should have just laughed, joked about it maybe, not given in to sudden mad impulse and _kissed_ him!

He rolled over on his back, biting at his lower lip and pounding one fist against the mattress, mentally calling himself every bad name he could think of. And even as he did, his mind insisted on replaying that kiss – that wonderful, desperate, _hungry_ kiss – and the feel of Sebastian pressed up against him, his knee pressed between Anders' legs, the bulge of their erections trapped between their bodies, the _heat_ of the man pressed so tightly up against him.

He'd responded. Sebastian had actually _responded_ , and for a moment he'd felt so hopeful, filled with wonder that maybe it was that easy, that all it would take was that trip, that catch, that kiss... and then Sebastian had stiffened, and pulled away. He'd frozen then, consumed with fear and shame, knowing it was going wrong. Sebastian had leaned there against the wall for so long, standing so very motionless, the only contact between them the light touch of the prince's fingers against the base of his throat. He felt the faint trembling of the man's fingers, knew that Sebastian must be warring in himself, had stood as motionless as he could himself, waiting for the prince to reach whatever decision he was going to come to over this abrupt development between the two of them.

He blinked back further tears, remembering that final light touch against his cheek, the harsh rasp of Sebastian's voice, ordering him away.

He'd been rejected.

The thought sent his stomach roiling, and he barely made it to the earth closet in the bathing chamber before losing the contents of his stomach. He retched, and retched again, spitting to clear his mouth of the foulness. His hands shook as he sprinkled ashes from the waiting bucket over top of the mess, his mind inadvertently recalling Sebastian's comments about the rarity and value of their dessert, and wondering just how many gold pieces worth of fine food had just been wasted.

It wasn't until he was turning to leave the room that he remembered Ashes. As pleasantly drunk as he'd been after all the wine, for once he hadn't remembered to retrieve his cat on the way out of Sebastian's quarters. Ashes was still somewhere upstairs.

He stood still for a long moment, weighing his overwhelming desire for the cat's comforting presence with his equally strong need to avoid Sebastian's company right now. Twice he started to take a step toward the closet, and stopped himself, imagining the prince's outraged response if he should re-appear before him now after having been so recently ordered away.

And he couldn't stomach the thought of Sebastian seeing him as he was right now, tear-stained and likely smelling of vomit. The very thought brought on another bout of weeping.

He tore off his clothing, tugging on clean nightclothes, went back to the main room long enough to let the dogs back in from where they'd been outside in the garden since just before he went upstairs for dinner, then stumbled back to the bed.

He lay down on it, cocooning himself in the bedding, the two dogs pressed up against him. Haelioni was a comforting weight against his back and legs, Ganwyn curled up in front of him with his cold nose pressed against Anders' chin, whining faintly until Anders finally stopped crying and trembling and drifted off to exhausted sleep.

* * *

He'd finished off the remaining half-bottle of red wine from dinner, and started in on brandy before he realized he still had a guest. He almost dropped his glass when a grey shape leapt up onto the arm at the far end of the couch he was lying on.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he asked the cat. "You very nearly did."

He frowned at the cat as he drank another mouthful of brandy. "You're not supposed to be here," he pointed out.

Ashes flowed down off the arm, and picked his way delicately up Sebastian's leg, stopping on his thigh. His eyes half-slitted, and he started to knead with his feet. Which was amusing only until he put his claws out, drawing a startled curse from Sebastian that sent the cat streaking away in offended surprise.

He sat up, frowning at the cat where it crouched on the floor nearby, giving him a baleful look. "You should be with the mage," he told the cat, and carefully set down his glass on the end table, taking his time with it to make sure he'd put it down safely. He was more than a little drunk, he realized.

He sat up the rest of the way, swinging his feet down to the floor. He stared at the cat for a while, watching it grooming itself, then rose unsteadily to his feet and walked off to the bedroom. The cat dashed past him as he opened the door, running over to stand near the tapestry covering the hidden staircase before turning to look expectantly at him.

He walked slowly over, then looked down at the cat and sighed. "He'll need you," he said, very quietly, and pushed the tapestry aside, then opened the door. The stairwell was dark, but he didn't bother to fetch a candle, just worked his way slowly and carefully down, feeling for each step with his feet, hand trailing along the rough stone wall until he finally reached the bottom. He opened the hidden panel, and then paused, hand on the closet door, for a very long time before finally applying enough pressure to ease it open.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, enough that the moonlight coming in the window was enough for him to make out Anders on the bed, the two dogs curled protectively around him, both watching Sebastian warily. Saw, too, the tear-marks on the mage's cheeks, the sight of which brought a sudden lump to Sebastian's own throat.

Ashes leapt up on the bed, and nosed at the mage's hair. Anders sighed, and straightened out of his tight curl a little, hand moving to touch the cat. Ashes turned around a couple of times, settling down on the pillow, pressed against Anders' head, his quiet purr filling the otherwise silent room.

Sebastian eased the door closed again, and felt his way back up through the dark to his own rooms. It was a very long time before he himself was able to sleep.


	56. Darkness Claimed

The last two days had been the worst of his life. Well, at least the worst in recent memory, there were quite a few days in his past that he'd objectively list as worse than these. Maker, these last two days were almost _pleasant_ compared to some of the things he'd endured in the past. But those were old, familiar, well-worn pains, and this was a bright fresh one, sharp and biting.

He'd been so relieved when he'd woken and found Ashes there with him, until he started wondering how the cat had _got_ there. He hoped at first that it was just that the cat had come down the stairs with him without him noticing, but had quickly realized that couldn't be the answer; Ashes was as attached to him as he was to Ashes, and as long as he'd been in the cottage before finally going to sleep, the cat would have put in an appearance at some point.

Which meant someone had brought him down from Sebastian's rooms.'Someone' having only one possible candidate – Sebastian himself. Which had left him wondering if it had been done because Sebastian was being kind, or because Sebastian wanted to be sure Anders had no excuse for returning to his apartment in order to retrieve the missing cat.

He'd been so upset that he hadn't been able to bring himself to get out of bed that first morning. A guard had eventually come knocking on the door to see why he hadn't left for the clinic yet; he'd claimed illness, eaten a little bread and cheese, and gone back to bed, eventually dropping off to sleep again. Not a very deep sleep, but enough to put him out him until well past lunch time. Not that he had any intention of joining Sebastian for lunch, even if the prince had _wanted_ him to come, which he rather doubted was the case at the moment.

He'd finally risen and dressed and gone upstairs and tried to work, but found himself just sitting at the desk, scribbling on a sheet of parchment – not writing or drawing, just scribbles. He'd tried to read, and after reading the same line for at least the fourth time knew he was too distracted to do so and gone back downstairs, and made himself a late lunch of more bread and cheese, feeding most of it to the dogs.

He spent time hauling and heating water and took a bath. He sat in the tub for a long time, soaking in the heat, head back against the rim of the tub and resolutely ignoring the tears spilling from his eyes. And then back to bed again, not to sleep but just to lie there, trying not to think about anything in particular except inanities – the texture of the sheets. A funny-shaped splotch high on one wall. The texture of Ashes' fur under his fingers, then trying to count just how many minute bands of darker and lighter colour there were in a single strand of his lengthy fur. The sound of his dinner being delivered, which got him out of bed long enough to feed the dogs and let them out for a while before returning to bed again, having eaten only a few spoonfuls of cooling stew himself.

Eventually it got dark out. And cold enough for him to get up and light a fire in the fireplace, before going back to bed. It was down to coals before he finally slept again.

He'd had a ferocious headache when he woke the second morning – too much sleep and not enough food the previous day. His appetite was back enough for him to make a sizable breakfast of porridge and tea, after which he'd dressed, and puttered aimlessly around the cottage until it was time to go to the clinic. There was very little to do there, other than checking in on the man with the badly broken leg and seeing a couple of new patients, both with only minor complaints.

He'd caught Sister Maura and Dugall both giving him concerned looks at different times, and supposed they were worried because of his claim of being ill the day before. He'd been relieved when clinic hours ended and he could escape their gaze and return home.

By then lunch time had rolled around, and his nausea over the events of the night before last had returned. It had been mid-afternoon before his stomach had calmed enough for him to choke down some tea and buttered bread.

He wondered if Fenris was back yet. And if he was, would Sebastian have mentioned to him anything about what had happened? He hoped not.

A servant arrived with his supper. He forced himself to eat, knowing his body needed the food, even if he wasn't feeling particularly hungry. Watched the dogs eat their own meal, then let them out in the yard. He went upstairs for a while, trying to work and again failing abysmally. He sat at the desk, just staring off into space, as his candle slowly burnt out and the room grew dark.

It wasn't until he abruptly realized that he'd left the dogs outside all this time that he finally rose to his feet and went back downstairs. He stopped to add a little wood to the coals in the fireplace and light a candle, then walked over to the door and opened it. Ganwyn and Haelioni weren't in sight. He whistled for them, frowned when they didn't promptly appear, stepping out of the cottage door before belatedly beginning to think about why they might not have answered his call.

Dark shapes lunged at him from either side, arms closing around him, a hand cupping over his mouth to muffle his frightened outcry. He struggled fruitlessly for a moment, crying out again in pain and fright as someone yanked his collar open, and something sharp jabbed painfully into the flesh at the base of his neck. He tried to gather his mage powers, to defend himself, only to feel an all-too-familiar numbness overwhelming him, a strange wooziness following on its heels. Magebane, mixed with something to make him sleepy.

"That's got it," a voice said in quiet satisfaction. "Quick, let us go. We have little time."

He should _know_ that voice, was his last thought before he felt the dizzying sensation of being hoisted over someone's shoulder, and darkness claimed him.


	57. Pursuit

Fenris frowned at the increasingly heavy snow as he approached the castle gates. He would have been back some hours ago, if not for the snow; it had delayed his departure from the circle keep with Gevin, and slowed his travel the rest of the day. Ari and Aer had tired quickly, and required frequent rests and change-offs as they plowed their way through the deepening snow. And then once he had reached the city, he'd needed to take Gevin home, and sit through the boy's excited explanations to his mother of where he'd been and what he'd seen over the last few days, confirming that the boy had indeed met Prince Vael and eaten several meals with him, and that Kyla – and her doll – were safely settled in with the mages in a nice place.

But now he was finally almost home. _Home_ , he thought, with a slight smile. And wasn't it nice to finally have a place that he actually thought of as home, even if it was little more than a few rooms in someone else's residence. Far more home to him after just these few months than Danarius' Hightown mansion had been to him even after years of squatting in it. He had a place here, friends, safety, duties he enjoyed. Not that Guard-Captain Cerin needed much assistance any more, the man had quickly absorbed the principles of what Fenris had to teach him. Now his main duties were helping to train the guards in what to do when faced with an opponent wielding a two-handed weapon, such as he himself favoured, and his work with Anders.

He nodded to the guards as he passed through the gate and into the main courtyard, where he turned to the right to travel around through the grounds to the stable where Ari and Aer were normally kept. The route took him around the outside of Anders' garden, past the gatehouse that guarded his entry. He had his head ducked down against the strong wind most of the way, but looked up as he passed the guardhouse itself, in the habit as he was of exchanging a nod with whichever guard was on duty in the small lookout on top of it whenever he passed. And frowned – the lookout was empty tonight.

Perhaps because of the foul weather? In this snow and wind a guard would only be able to see part of the garden wall, not the entire enclosure...

But no, it was supposed to be manned at all hours, even when Anders was elsewhere, to make sure his cottage was kept safe from intruders. Fenris reined Ari to a stop, and walked over to knock on the door. Silence; and _that_ was certainly not right. Someone should have slid open the peephole to see who was there. He tried the door. Locked, as it should be. Pounded on it, still with no answer. He frowned, then guided Ari to stand against the wall, and scrambled up to stand on his saddle. From there he could reach the edge of the roof, and pull himself up and through one of the openings into the lookout. He heaved up the trap-door in the floor, and looked down into the interior.

It was lit by the coals of a fire burning low in the fireplace to one side of the room. He could see the guards sprawled on the floor. Dead? No, he realized, as a gust of wind sucked some of the air up through the trap door and he caught a whiff of a familiar smell. Someone had set off a sleeping gas trap in the guardhouse. He took a deep breath of cold fresh air, then dropped down through the trap, ignoring the ladder, and quickly moved to open the door to the garden. Wind gusted through, dissipating whatever remained of the gas.

From here he could see that the door to Anders' cottage was standing partially open. He cursed and started forward, only to trip and almost fall over something soft under the snow. He quickly bent down, feeling for what it was... fur. One of the dogs. No, both of them, still alive but obviously drugged into sleep as well. They'd be fine where they were, he decided, and started over toward the cottage. Even before he reached it, he could see there was an area around the door where the snow had been disturbed at some earlier point in the evening, though between the heavy snow and the blowing wind only a faint lumpiness to the area remained as a sign that anything unusual had happened here. He stopped before reaching it, examining the area in the faint firelight light escaping round the door and out the nearby window.

At struggle of some kind, he guessed, and then whomever it was had walked off, one behind the other to disturb the snow as little as possible. Their tracks were already snow-filled enough to be just a narrow, barely-visible dip in the surface of the snow where they'd passed earlier. He started to move toward the cottage, meaning to take the hidden staircase up and let Sebastian know what had happened, then hesitated and looked again at the faint mark, filling in with even more wind-blown snow as he watched, and muttered a vile curse as he considered how much time it would take to go in, explain, wait for Sebastian and some guards to be ready to follow... the track was already difficult to make out, within a very short time it was going to disappear entirely.

Decision made, he turned and ran back across the garden, through the guardhouse and out to where his horses were waiting patiently, heads turned out of the wind. He grabbed Ari's reins and led the horses along the wall, bent over and peering at the snow, and found the point where they'd come over the wall, the narrow trail a faint crease crossing the snow-covered castle grounds. He hurried along it, and found the place where they must have gone over the outer wall as well. He quickly remounted Ari, fixing the position in his mind, and clapped heels to flanks, sending the startled horse at a run for the nearest gate.

He reined to a stop there, pausing only just long enough to order the guards to send word to Guard-Captain Cerin and Sebastian of what he'd discovered, grab a torch to light his way, and then set the horses at a trot along the wall, looking for where the trail resumed on this side, turning to follow it when it came into view in the wavering circle of light being cast by his torch.

He and the horses would leave a much more obvious trail; as long as he didn't lose their tracks, in the wind and snow and dark, he'd catch up with Anders' abductors eventually, and Sebastian, he was sure, would not be far behind him.

* * *

Sebastian slumped in his chair, a half-drunk glass of brandy in one hand, listening to the hiss of the snow against the windows. He wondered if Fenris was still at the circle keep with the mages, or was somewhere out in that mess. Somewhere safe and warm, he hoped; it was no fit night to be out and about.

He wished the elf was here. He'd been in a turmoil for two days now, since that disastrous dinner with Anders. He was okay when he was working, in meetings or pouring over papers – though he was finding it took almost twice as long to get through the same amount of paperwork, his mind too-easily distracted from the task at hand. It was when he was on his own that he felt worst.

That first day, eating his meals by himself, in the too-quiet, too-empty apartment... he hadn't felt so alone in years. Even when he'd first arrived back in Starkhaven, and it had been just himself here, among a lot of people who barely remembered him as the wastrel prince he'd once been, watching their new ruler warily, he hadn't felt this alone. He'd missed the people he'd known back in Kirkwall more than a little yes, but he'd been filled with such _anger_ , such a sense of purpose, it had been easy to get through the days. In Kirkwall there'd always been others around him – Hawke and his friends, his brothers and sisters in the chantry, the people he tended as a priest. Grand-Cleric Elthina. Before Kirkwall, there'd always been others about, whether his family or the few nobles of his age who still pretended to friendship with him, or his paid companions of an evening. And now... well, he wasn't really alone, there were guards right outside his door, almost a hundred people throughout the keep, any of whom he could go and talk to if he wanted to.

But real friends?

Fenris. Guard-Captain Cerin, maybe. Anders.

He wished he could roll back time, to before he'd discovered that the mage harboured a passion for him. Worse, that he desired the mage in turn. And wasn't that a most bitter joke for life to have played on him. On _both_ of them. To make them each conceive a passion for the single most unsuitable person they knew. Anders was male, an apostate, a mass-murderer, his _prisoner_. As well as generous, gentle, kind, compassionate, a healer, and handsome. _Desirable_.

And he could not pretend to himself that he didn't desire him. Not after the way the man had haunted his dreams the last two nights, and doubtless would this night as well. He drank off the brandy in his glass, and poured in some more.

It would be so easy to give in to that desire, to act on it. To let himself back down the stairs again, into the mage's bedroom, into the man's bed, where he had little doubt he'd be made entirely welcome. Just the thought made him ache with longing.

But no. He _would not_ do it. It was _wrong_. He had his vows, and even if he didn't he had his sense of decency, and even as he longed for Anders' touch, part of him accepted that to give in to his desire would be taking advantage of the man, taking advantage of his weakness and dependency. Fundamentally, it would make him no different than the men who, rather than protecting the mage, their charge, had assaulted him instead. All the power was on his side; all the vulnerability on Anders'. Even though they both desired it, it would be no less a wrong, and as much a wrong to his own sense of self as to the mage.

He wished Fenris was here.

Sudden hurried footsteps out in the hallway caught his attention. He was straightening up even before he heard Guard-Captain Cerin's voice, ordering the guards to let him in. He rose and turned to look even as the door opened, Cerin rushing in looking flustered, a group of guards on his heels.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Mere minutes later he rushed out of the room, still fastening the last few buckles on his armour, one of the guards carrying his cloak, quiver and bow for him as they hurried down to the front courtyard, where Cerin had already ordered horses and torches to be brought.

_Anders_. Dear Maker, let the man be all right. And Andraste's blessing on Fenris, for having discovered he was missing while there was still a track to follow. The thought that the mage might have just disappeared, _vanished_ , with no sign as to what had happened to him... it sent a chill through Sebastian.

He'd sworn to keep him safe. He'd failed. He prayed with every fibre of his being that they would recover him, alive and preferably well, though _alive_ was the key thing.

They rode out of the castle and around the walls to where mounted men with torches already waited at the beginning of Fenris' trail, and followed it off into the snow-blown darkness.


	58. A Familiar Voice

"...id you give him?"

"Enough to put him out overnight. He should be waking soon."

Anders frowned, even before he opened his eyes. All he saw was white. He blinked, and the white resolved into snow, beneath him. He was... he was hanging face-down, tied up and hung from a pole like game. And like game, he was being carried somewhere, the pole bouncing slightly as the people bearing it moved, their footsteps crunching through the snow. Judging by the slightly forward slant of the pole, the people were of two markedly different heights. At the angle his head was hanging down, he could just glimpse the well-worn black leather boots of the person carrying the hind end of the pole.

The second voice – the one at the front of the pole – was still speaking. A voice with an accent, one he was sure he should recognize. "Anyway, he is easier to deal with this way, is he not?"

" _Zevran!_ " Anders gasped.

Movement stopped. "Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes. How are you feeling, my friend?" the once-familiar voice asked.

"Like a roast ready for the fire. Blight it, Zevran, what in the black city is going on!"

"A rescue," the taller person carrying the back end of the pole answered, voice dryly amused. "Though considering how little like a prison that place looked, I am wondering if perhaps we're engaged in a kidnapping instead."

And he knew that voice, as well. "Nathaniel," he said, identifying the man, then abruptly remembered calling the dogs, their failure to answer, the two forms grabbing him... "If you two hurt my dogs, I _swear_ I'll eviscerate you both," he said, voice thick with conviction.

A soft laugh from Zevran. "Fear not, my friend, I would be a poor assassin – and Nate a poor rogue – if we could not enter a place without leaving such obvious signs of intrusion behind us. Your dogs were just taking an unscheduled nap when we, ah... _retrieved_ you."

Anders sighed in relief, then squirmed a little, testing his bonds. "So, are you going to let me free? I can walk perfectly well, you know."

"Mmmm, no, I think that as close as we are to camp, it would be best to just carry you the rest of the way. Then Soria can have the pleasure of unwrapping you herself."

"Oh, Maker... she's going to _kill_ me," Anders groaned.

Zevran and Nathaniel laughed shortly, and resumed moving. "She would be justified in doing so," Nate pointed out coolly. "Deserter, murderer... and that's just _before_ you left Amaranthine."

Anders flushed, but forbore to argue. Not when he had to reluctantly agree that Nathaniel's accusation was justified. He closed his eyes; the sight of the snow passing below him in conjunction with the bouncing of the pole was making him slightly nauseous. Helped not in the least by the continuing numbness from the magebane and lingering dizziness from the sleeping potion.

His first clue that the camp was near was to hear Soria's peal of laughter from somewhere nearby. "Zevran! Nathaniel! Was this really necessary?" she called, voice moving closer. He closed his eyes even tighter, feeling his cheeks flush as he listened to her footsteps approaching, crunching through the snow.

"Perhaps not, my Warden, but it was the easiest way to manage him."

And then he felt a hand touching his shoulder, and his eyes snapped open to find Soria bending over, peering upside-down into his face, her ebon braid hanging down to almost trail in the snow. His blush deepened under her calmly evaluating look.

"Well, put him down and untie him," she abruptly ordered, straightening back up out of his view. "I can hardly speak easily with him when he's trussed up like a slaughtered deer."

He was lowered to the ground, the pole slipped out of the longer loops that had held him suspended from it. Zevran knelt down beside him, nimble fingers making quick work of the knots. He was soon sitting upright, assisting clumsily with unwrapping the ropes wound around his legs, while looking over the small camp site. A small well-shielded fire, and two tents, tucked in among a stand of cedars that served as a windbreak to keep the worst of the continuing snowstorm off of them.

And then someone crawled out of one of the tents, and rose to their feet, and he froze, feeling the blood drain from his face.

" _Hawke_ ," he said, voice little more than a hoarse whisper.


	59. Parallels

He sat there, frozen, as Hawke slowly walked a few paces closer, dark eyes looking Anders over warily. "Anders," he finally said, voice soft and even. "You look... well. Surprisingly well," he added, and looked questioningly at Zevran and Nathaniel.

Nate shrugged. "He wasn't being held in anything that looked like any prison _I've_ ever seen," he said, coldly.

"Nor I," Zevran agreed more amiably, rising to his feet again. He began to coil the rope, and looked speculatively at Anders. "The place was well-guarded, but what little I saw of it seemed rather _comfortable_ for a prison. Certainly not, as you feared, any place of torment."

"Torment...?" Anders said, blankly, and looked up at Hawke. "Why would you think I..."

"Because you were in Sebastian's hands! When I heard a few weeks ago, that he had you... _every_ threat he ever made against you back in Kirkwall came back to me. I _couldn't_ leave you to him," Hawke said, voice cracking with strain. He took another step closer, looking puzzled. "But looking at you now... why do I get the feeling you didn't actually need rescuing?"

Anders sighed. "Because I didn't. Yes, I'm Sebastian's prisoner, but... he didn't capture me, Hawke. I turned myself in to him, and..." he looked away, flushed. Looked back. "He's a good man, Hawke. He could have killed me, I _expected_ to die at his hands. He had every right and reason to kill me, for what I'd done in Kirkwall. And he chose mercy instead."

Hawke stood very still, just looking at him, then sighed. "You _expected_ to die? Then why..."

"Because it was time to stop running. Because what I did in Kirkwall was _wrong_. Even Justice realized it, afterwards, when we started hearing word of what was happening elsewhere as a result," he said, and felt tears stinging his eyes, tears of remembered guilt and shame, of loneliness as he remembered his feelings of desolation, of abandonment, after first Hawke and then Justice had left him. His voice was bitter as he spoke on. "Justice left me, after Kirkwall. 'We have erred', he said, and then he just... faded away," Anders explained, fighting to keep his voice even. "And I, too, remembered Sebastian's words. So I went to Starkhaven and turned myself over to him, thinking he'd at least put an end to me."

"And yet he let you live," Hawke said, softly.

"Yes," Anders said, equally soft. "He... gave me a place. It's a rather large prison, but it _is_ a prison; I don't do very well in small dark spaces, you may remember," he said, shakily, with a quick twisted smile. "He decided he'd have more use for me sane than gibbering."

Hawke nodded slowly. Soria, standing quietly nearby, said nothing, but Anders could see her give the tiniest of nods too. She knew, as well as Hawke did, what he had gone through in the past, being one of the very few people he had ever told the full story too.

"He gave me work to do – he didn't think there was any point in wasting my healing talents, among other things," Anders continued. "I live very quietly in a well-guarded cottage, with a cat and a pair of dogs to keep me company, and I work in a clinic for a while every day, and Sebastian picks my brain occasionally about things like sanitation for refugee camps. I try to make up in part for all the lives I took in Kirkwall by saving lives here. Sebastian... is far kinder to me than I deserve," he finished softly, looking down.

Everyone was silent. Soria finally broke the quiet. "I'm getting cold just looking at you, Anders... come on, let's move this into my tent, it's at least out of the wind."

"I'll make tea," Zevran volunteered, already moving toward the low fire.

Anders had to be helped to his feet. Between a cold, windy night spent tied up and dangling from a pole while improperly dressed for the weather, and sitting in the snow for the last few minutes, he was stiff and sore. Nathaniel and Soria each grabbed an arm and pulled, getting him to his feet, then Soria guided him over to her tent and in. There were two bedrolls inside, covering much of the floor, just a narrow strip of bare groundsheet between them. Soria shooed him to the far end of the tent, and snatched up a thick blanket to tuck around him. "You're like ice," she said frowning. "Can't you warm yourself?"

"No, afraid not. Zevran stuck me with magebane last night, and it hasn't worn off yet," he explained, as she took a seat nearby, drawing an annoyed frown from her.

Hawke and then Nathaniel entered the tent as well, Hawke setting down a careful distance away from Anders. Anders didn't miss noticing the guarded expression still in Hawke's eyes. Or the way Nathaniel sat down right beside him, hand brushing against his shoulder for a moment, the two men exchanging a brief glance that spoke volumes to those with eyes to see.

It should have hurt. It was less than a year since the two of them had been lovers, after all. But... it didn't. He'd been a different man then, in more ways than one. The love there had been between himself and Hawke was long dead, killed by the explosion of the chantry as surely as the people within it at the time had been. Really, he should be surprised that Hawke had still cared enough about him to arrange a rescue of him at all. Though it _was_ just like the man, and he found a warm smile curving his lips for a moment. A smile which Hawke looked away from uncomfortably, and which won him a steely glare from Nathaniel.

"That you for trying to rescue me," he said to Hawke, then looked curiously at Soria. "Though I'm surprised you'd come all the way here from Amaranthine for it."

Soria and Hawke exchanged a dark look, Soria's lips pressing tightly together.

"We were already in the Free Marches when we heard that you were here," Soria said softly. "And had to pass near here anyway. Besides," she added, frowning severely at him. "You're one of _my_ men. _Nobody_ takes any of my people."

"I... wish you'd been around to tell Rolan that," Anders said, looking down at his hands again. Remembering once again the nightmare he'd suffered from for so many years, of killing Rolan and some nameless templar, tearing them apart with his bare hands, biting into their flesh as if he was some vile, brutal darkspawn himself, not a thinking, reasoning man... regaining sanity surrounded by flames and whole droves of torn bodies, wardens and templars both. He _knew_ it hadn't really happened like that, that it was just a nightmare, the details all wrong and distorted, but he still couldn't suppress a shudder as the memories and guilt briefly overwhelmed him. He _had_ killed Rolan, after the man had led him into a trap, a group of templars lying in wait to drain and abduct the Grey Warden mage, to see him taken away and put to death before anyone could intervene. Killed the templars, too – he and Justice had done that, on that very first time that they'd ever acted together. Their first major misstep together, he saw in retrospect. If only he'd just escaped, made it back to Vigil's Keep... but there was no changing the past.

He glanced at Soria. She was looking furious. It took him a minute to realize it was not _him_ that she was angry with. "I'd have killed him myself for what he tried to do," she said, angrily. "I should never have accepted him... but he'd seemed so _reasonable_ before, and I hoped that if the chantry had independent reports from someone they trusted that you were no maleficarum, that they'd stop hounding you. They'd never believe _me_ ," she added, a touch bitterly.

An elf, and Dalish, no follower of Andraste and the Maker – no, the chantry had never been willing to believe anything Soria Mahariel said. And for a woman whose unflagging honesty was so central a part of her, even when it personally cost her, that was a terrible insult.

He blinked back tears, touched that even after so many years she was still angry on _his_ behalf for Rolan's attempted betrayal. Before he could say anything, Zevran pushed his way into the tent, a clutch of tin mugs in one hand, a steaming pot in the other, smelling richly of tea, spices, and sweetening. The next few minutes were spent in the tea being served and passed around, until everyone was sitting with a mug in hand.

Anders was shivering now; he'd been too cold to shiver before, which the healer part of him knew meant he'd been dangerously chilled. Soria noticed, and quietly scolded both Zevran and Nathaniel for not making sure he was more warmly clothed before carrying him off.

Zevran shrugged philosophically. "We had very little time, my Warden. He is well enough now, is he not?"

Soria frowned at him, but looked more amused than annoyed by his cavalier attitude.

Anders had never been sure just what the relationship between her and the assassin was; Zevran hadn't even been with her when she'd first come to Amaranthine, but his arrival some months later had her looking bright-eyed and happy, as she only very rarely was. He didn't _think_ they were lovers, but the ex-Crow certainly stuck as close to her as if he was. He'd still been puzzling over it up until the two of them departed Amaranthine, Soria having been summoned to Weisshaupt to report to the First Warden about events in Ferelden during the Blight. And then everything had gone pear-shaped for him.

He sighed, and looked down at the mug in his hands. "So now what happens to me?" he asked nervously. "Am I _your_ prisoner now?"

Soria and Hawke both frowned, and exchanged another of those dark looks.

"That depends on you, I suppose," Hawke said softly. "We could use you, for... where we're going."

"And where's that?" Anders asked.

Soria shook her head slightly. "No. We cannot tell you unless you are willing to go with us. Anders... we do not _need_ you along. We certainly had no plans to recruit you for this mission. Your rescue was merely... a side benefit of us being nearby. If you do not wish to accompany us, I am willing to send you back to Vigil's Keep instead; the Wardens will protect their own."

He nodded, and took a swallow of the hot tea while he considered. To go to some unnamed place with Soria, and Hawke... a woman whose trust and a man whose love he'd both betrayed... a man who had moved on from him. Or back to Amaranthine, to the Keep, to the friends he'd begun to make there, before he'd fled.

He closed his eyes, remembering the heat of Sebastian's body so close to his in the long still moment before his rejection. Ashes, his dogs, even Fenris... Dugall, and Sister Maura. Kyla, and his hope that she, unlike he, would have only _good_ memories of being raised in a circle.

"And what if I want to return to Starkhaven?" he heard himself asking, voice rough and shaky.

Silence. Dead silence.

He opened his eyes again, raised his head. Hawke looked... perplexed. Nathaniel was frowning. Soria's face was blank. Zevran looked... mildly amused.

"Even if it means a return to prison?" Hawke asked, softly.

"I did say it looked like no prison," Nathaniel said, and looked coldly at Anders. "Are you thinking, better life in a gilded cage than a return to the duties of a Grey Warden?"

"No!" he exclaimed, shocked, then continued in a softer voice. "No. But... I gave my word to Sebastian, after I surrendered to him. I would rather not be foresworn in this. And... I am doing _good_ here, in Starkhaven."

Soria was giving him a particularly penetrating look. "I am not sure if I should allow one of my wardens to be imprisoned," she said, slowly. "Even if he seems to believe it is the right course and _volunteers_ for it. It sets a very bad precedent."

Anders slumped a little, and lowered his head, hands tightening on his mug.

Zevran suddenly spoke up. "Anders – did you truly believe this Sebastian would kill you, when you surrendered to him?"

He looked up, blinked in mild surprise at the elf. "Yes."

"Did you _want_ him to kill you?"

"Yes," he said, dully, remembering how much he'd wanted to die at the time.

"And yet he unexpectedly spared your life instead? And gave you work that needed doing?"

"Yes..." he answered again, slowly, wondering where Zevran was going with this line of questioning.

Zevran's head tilted. "Do you care for him, this merciful prince?"

Anders flushed, and glanced uneasily at Hawke, then stared down at his tea for a very long moment.

"Yes," he finally admitted, very quietly.

"You must let him go, Soria," Zevran said, equally quietly but very forcefully. "As his conscious leads him."

Startled, he looked up and found Zevran looking intently at Soria. She was frowning slightly, worrying at her bottom lip as she gazed back at the assassin. "I... must think on this," she said abruptly. "Go, all of you, out of my tent."

Zevran rose, somehow managing to give her an elegant bow as he bent over to clear the low roof of the tent, then turned and left. Hawke rose and went out behind him, less gracefully. Nate stayed stubbornly where he was, frowning at Soria.

"Go, Anders," she said, quietly. "I will talk to you shortly."

He nodded, and made it to his feet, tea clutched in one hand, other holding the blanket around him, and ducked out of the tent.

Hawke had already disappeared – presumably back into the other tent. Zevran stood by the fire, one of his daggers in hand, studying the blade of it. He looked up, and nodded at Anders, then gestured to a snow-covered log by the fire. "Sit," he invited.

Anders walked over, knocked some of the excess snow off the log with the side of his foot, and sat down, huddling into the blanket and sipping at what remained of his rapidly cooling tea. He frowned up at the assassin. "What was that about?" he asked, puzzled and curious.

A slight smile curved Zevran's lips. "Do you know, I once tried to kill Soria and Alistair? It was how we met, in fact. I had been hired to assassinate the two of them."

He grinned toothily at Anders. "As you may have deduced, I failed. In fact, I failed on purpose. I was seeking death that day, yes, but it was my own I wanted, not theirs."

Anders blinked up at him, surprised.

Zevran continued, turning the dagger over and over in his hand, staring intently at the blade, voice low. "I expected the wardens would kill me. But Soria spared my life. Like you said of your prince, she _chose mercy_. And gave me work that needed doing – fighting at her side, to gain the allies needed to combat the blight, and save Ferelden."

"You love her," Anders said softly, sure even as he said it, that not only was it true – but that Zevran and she had never been lovers.

"Yes. But it is not reciprocated. Nor, I think, will it ever be," he said, regretfully, very softly, with a slight shrug. "She has loved greatly, twice in her life, and lost both. The first she lost to the taint, and the second to his destiny. She still loves him. She will not let herself love another, I think, not as long as he lives."

Anders blinked rapidly, putting together hints, rumours, a look he'd seen the two exchange, that first crazed, eventful day of his conscription... " _King Alistair!_ " he guessed.

"Yes. Though you did not hear it from _me_ ," Zevran said, pointing the dagger at him. "When she spared me, I swore I would be her man, until such time as she released me. Which she has tried to do several times now, but I am a very stubborn man," he added with a broad smile.

Anders rose to his feet, paced a step back and forth, frowning. "And because of this... parallel, you think she should let me return to Starkhaven?" he asked, confused.

"Yes. She spared me, and much good came of it, for her, for I, for others. This prince has spared you; perhaps good will come of this, too, yes?"

Anders couldn't help it – he laughed. "You're a crazy man, Zevran."

"Of course! But I am a crazy man with a knife! And the ear of a very influential woman, even if it is other parts of her I might wish to have," the assassin said, gesturing with his knife.

And it was then that Fenris appeared out of the blowing snow, reining back sharply on his horse as he took in the tableau before him, Anders and Zevran both turning to look at him in surprise as he vaulted off of Ari's back, ripping his sword from its sheath on his back as he moved, an angry bellow already escaping his lips.

Zevran moved to defend himself, realizing the danger he was in even before Anders realized how it must have looked to the warrior – as if Zevran was threatening him with the dagger. He was still gaping in shocked surprised as Fenris easily dodged a dagger thrown by the assassin, then swept his massive sword in an arc that would surely kill the other elf.

" _No!_ " Anders shouted in horror.

Fenris couldn't stop his sword, but somehow he managed to comprehend Anders' exclamation and pull his stroke, the blade twisting so it was the flat, not the too-lethal edge, that impacted with the other elf. Even so, Anders clearly heard bone snapping as Zevran was thrown violently to the side from the force of the impact. His mug and blanket went flying as he rushed to Zevran's side, dropping down onto his knees in the snow beside him, taking in the extent of his injuries. The elf's upper left arm was badly broken, the humerus shattered. Anders suspected the ribs had also been cracked or broken on that side as well, and that the shoulder and clavicle might also have been damaged by the impact.

Drawn by the commotion, the others were boiling out of the two tents, weapons in hand.

" _Hawke!_ " he heard Fenris exclaim in shocked tones.

"Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed as well, sounding both surprised and pleased.

"What's going on here?" Fenris demanded next, sounding angry. "Did you arrange this, mage?" he asked, voice cold with suspicion.


	60. Final Arrival

"No," Anders spat out. "I did not 'arrange' this. If I had, no one would have stuck me full of magebane, for one. I can't even _begin_ to heal this mess, Zevran!"

The elf forced a thin smile. "A slight miscalculation on my part, it would seem," he said shakily. "But then I was not expecting to need your services."

Soria dropped to her knees beside Zevran as well, muttering a curse in what Anders assumed was Dalish as she took in his injuries. "How bad is it?" she asked worriedly, looking to Anders.

"He'll live," Anders said. "But it's going to be a bastard of a job getting this set, which I don't dare start on until I have my power back. And it'll take weeks before it heals properly. Even if I had power..." he shook his head. "You know I prefer to let bone heal naturally, unless it's an emergency."

Soria sighed and sat back on her heals. "Blight take it..." she muttered, then frowned down at Zevran. "You should have _ducked_ ," she scolded him.

Zevran grinned. Clearly her words were some sort of in-joke between the two. "I will remember that for the next time, my Warden," he replied, voice just barely above a whisper, then rolled his head to look at Anders. "I am guessing that without your magic you cannot even put me to sleep? This is... considerably painful."

Anders shook his head regretfully. "Correct. What about whatever it is you used to put _me_ to sleep? Do you have more of that?"

The elf nodded slightly. "Look in the pouch on the right side of my belt. You're looking for a very small vial, it should be at the left front, with a pattern of a long line and three dots embossed on the cap. Be careful... if anything broke in the fall and is leaking, it could be very dangerous to handle anything in there with your bare hands."

Anders gave him a black look, then very careful unclasped and opened the stiffened leather pouch. It was filled with soft wadding, vials of various sizes inserted at intervals into the padding. He peered at the vials from several angle, then leaned forward and sniffed cautiously. "I don't _think_ anything is broken," he muttered, and squinted at the caps, before very carefully removing a tiny vial. "Is this it?" he asked.

Zevran held up his right hand. "Let me touch the cap," he said, then gave a small nod of approval after feeling it. "That is it. One drop is enough to put out a man for a couple of hours. Two for about six to eight hours. Three for a day, though it is dangerous in that amount. Four will kill."

"Charming," Anders said, dryly. "One drop, then, and we'll hope the magebane has worn off by the time you reawaken."

Zevran nodded slightly, and watched intently as Anders very carefully dripped a single drop of the poison onto a dagger blade.. He held up his hand again, and turned his head to look at Soria. "You will protect me while I sleep," he said quietly, more statement than question.

She nodded. "Of course," she said, expression serious. "No one will touch you without going through _me_ , first."

Zevran gave her a very faint smile. "Thank you, my Warden," he said, then nodded at Anders.

Anders gave him a shallow cut with the knife, watched the drop of poison vanish into the cut. He bit his lip in worry, and sighed in relief when Zevran dropped off to sleep almost immediately, lines of pain smoothing out of his face.

He looked up to find Hawke, Nathaniel and Fenris standing nearby. "Sorry. You were asking, Fenris?"

Fenris snorted, then looked back and forth between the others there. "Someone tell me what is going on," he said, icily. "Anders?"

"Hawke heard I was a prisoner of Sebastian's," Anders explained tiredly. "He... feared I was being tormented. He arranged a rescue."

Fenris grunted, and nodded slowly. "Not unreasonable, I suppose, considering the acrimonious nature of our parting with Sebastian in Kirkwall," he said, then frowned again, before looking at Hawke. "Sebastian cannot be far behind me; when I discovered Anders missing I sent word to him before I started along the trail, and he will have been able to travel faster than I, as my own trail will have been far easier to keep to than the faint traces I was following."

Soria scowled and rose to her own feet, dusting snow off her leggings. "More complications... well, too late to do anything about it now. Anders, Hawke – one of you introduce me to your friend?" she asked, looking at Fenris with frank curiosity.

Hawke nodded. "Of course. You recall me speaking of Fenris, an elven warrior who was one of my companions in Kirkwall? This is he."

"Ah, of course – the ex-slave from Tevinter, yes?" she asked, smiling brilliantly at the elf. "I should have guessed it from the markings," she added, making a vague gesture toward her throat.

Fenris nodded uneasily, and looked questioningly at Hawke.

"Fenris, this is Soria Mahariel, the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey for Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine... have I remembered all your honours properly?" Hawke asked, smiling warmly at the elf.

She snorted and smiled slightly. "More than enough of them, yes," she said. "Well. I suppose we might as well sit down and wait for this Prince Sebastian Vael to show up before we attempt to straighten out this mess any further. Nathaniel, see to some blankets for Zevran, please."

Anders nodded and retrieved the blanket he'd dropped earlier, wrapping it around his shoulders and resuming his previous seat, while Nate ducked into Soria's tents and fetched Zevran's bedroll, tucking the blankets around the sleeping elf as best as he could without disturbing his injuries. Everyone else found places to sit as well, apart from Fenris, who moved close to the fire but remained standing. Soria gave him a questioning look.

"Less chance of a misunderstanding when Sebastian arrives," he said calmly. "If I am in clear view and obviously no prisoner."

Soria nodded, before turning to Anders. "I want to hear what you've been up to since leaving Kirkwall, Anders – I've heard most of what you were up to in Kirkwall already from Bethany and Hawke."

Anders nodded, and started talking. Slowly, at first, the story rousing uncomfortable memories for him, but gradually relaxing under Soria's attentive gaze.

* * *

The snow was tapering off, Sebastian was pleased to notice, visibility improving dramatically, the snow-shrouded hills in only partially-obscured view now. He could make out the marks of Fenris' passage curving around the side of the hill ahead. They'd been at the walk for a while now, resting the horses as much as they could without risking losing the trail.

"At the trot," he called, nudging his own horses to a faster pace, the guards accompanying him smoothly moving to the faster speed as well.

It had been a very long night, following Fenris' trail through the snow and darkness, the wind-blown torches illuminating just a small circle around them as they travelled. They'd had to stop and change horses several times, switching off between mount and remount as the beasts tired. All of them were cold and sore before the darkness finally brightened toward day. The night had been rendered even longer yet by Sebastian's fears for Fenris and Anders. The fact that the mage had been seized, and not simply killed outright, gave him hope that they would find him alive. Still, that had not stopped his mind from presenting him with countless scenarios where the mage had been hauled off to face some form of summary justice, the fear that they might yet find him hung in a tree, or reduced to blackened remains in a pyre, or sitting mindlessly in the snow, the brand of a tranquil upon his forehead...

No, he would not believe that Anders could have met any such foul ends. They would find him. He would be _safe_. They would take him home again, and all would be well. He _had_ to believe that.

They rounded the curve of the hill, a small stand of cedars coming into view. He spotted the horses first, in the lee of the trees, standing head-to-tail, the pair obvious by the colouration as Ari and Aen. And people, sitting around a fire, one standing, one lying blanket-shrouded in the snow, with bright gold hair... his heart thundered painfully for a moment, then a blanket-wrapped form rose to his feet, and he resumed breathing, seeing it was Anders, Fenris the other standing figure.

He clapped his heels to his horse and rode forward at all speed, not reining back until he was close enough to see that they were both unharmed, unbound, Fenris still armed. He sighed and slowed to a walk, signalling his guards to remain wary but not attack, before stopping a careful distance away from the group. The three still sitting were all turned to look at him, an elven woman looking at him with bright-eyed curiosity, a black-haired man he didn't know with a guarded expression, and...

"Hawke," he said, coolly acknowledging the third man. He looked back and forth between him and Anders, and swallowed heavily. "I assume you are behind this?" he asked the warrior.


	61. A Parting Of Ways

"Sebastian," said Hawke, warily. "Yes. I heard Anders was your prisoner," he said, face hardening. "I was unwilling to leave him in your hands, after your threats in Kirkwall."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "Understandable," he said, then looked at the others, the two sitting, the one unconscious. "And these are?"

"Soria Mahariel. Nathaniel Howe. Zevran Arainai." Hawke said shortly, nodding to each in turn.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "The Hero of Ferelden? Here in Starkhaven? We are honoured," he said, then lightly dismounted from his horse and sketched a bow in her direction, still wary but relaxing somewhat. He looked back and forth between her and Anders. "I assume you are here as Anders' commander?"

She nodded slowly.

"You are removing my prisoner from my custody?" he asked, hands tightening on the reins still held in them as he looked at Anders, feeling his heart sinking.

"That has yet to be determined," Soria said, then rose to her feet. "I believe you and I need to talk. Will you walk with me?" she invited.

He glanced at Fenris, then at Hawke, before looking at her and slowly nodding. "I would be honoured to," he said, and glanced at his Guard-Captain. "I believe the men and horses can rest for a while, Cerin – we do not appear to be in any immediate danger."

"M'Lord," Cerin said, giving him a careful nod, and withdrew the men a few lengths before signalling for them to dismount and make themselves comfortable.

Sebastian looked for a long moment at Anders, then turned and walked off with Soria.

* * *

Anders watched the pair walk off, before looking uneasily at Hawke. Hawke met his eyes steadily, then turned and glanced at Nate. Nate's lips thinned slightly, then he abruptly rose to his feet. "Why don't you show me your horses, Fenris? I've rarely seen such fine mounts since leaving the Free Marches."

Fenris glanced at Anders, then slowly nodded. "Of course," he said, and turned and walked off to where his two horses were standing, Nathaniel following behind.

"Sit, please," Hawke said quietly.

Anders nodded, and resumed his seat on the log again. They sat and just studied each other for a while.

Finally Hawke gave a small sigh, and a very faint smile. "You're looking... good. A lot better than I expected," he said, one corner of his mouth twisting slightly.

"You, too," Anders said quietly. "Fenris had mentioned that Isabela had dropped you and Bethany off in Amaranthine... how is she?"

"She's okay... she's got a lot of friends among the Wardens in the keep and the families in the village around it. Everyone always likes Bethany," Hawke said, with a warm smile. "It was good to see her there, among people that value her. She's... changed a lot, since Kirkwall. You remember how furious she was about being abducted and brought there by Thrask? Well, that was nothing compared to her reaction when Orsino turned against us. I think she'd rather admired him, before."

Anders frowned. "I'm still shocked that he would turn to blood magic. And Fenris said he was somehow involved with that madman who killed Leandra?"

"Yes," Hawke agreed, lips thinning in remembered anger. "You remember that note we found, signed with an 'O'? Apparently it was 'O' for Orsino."

Anders swore softly and vehemently.

Hawke nodded, then looked away. "As you might imagine I... rather went off mages for a while after Kirkwall."

Anders nodded slowly. "I can understand why," he said, and stared down at his hands for a while. "Hawke... I'm... sorry, that things turned out the way they did, in Kirkwall."

A very long silence from Hawke. "Me, too," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. They exchanged a look, studying each other intently for a minute.

"You and Nate...?" Anders asked after a while.

Hawke's lips twisted in a crooked smile. "Yeah. Surprised the hell out of me... I thought he was interested in _Bethany_ , not me. Finally he got tired of my obtuseness and just, well..." he paused, and flushed, looking pleased. "Slammed me up against a wall, kissed the hell out of me, told me to open my eyes, and walked off. I eventually got over my shock and chased him down."

Anders laughed shortly. "I can imagine him doing that," he said, then looked away again. "He's a good man, when he isn't being twice as broody as Fenris, twice as sneaky as Isabela, and twice as rule-bound as Aveline."

Hawke snorted in amusement at the summation. "Yeah," he agreed, then looked off to where Soria and Sebastian were standing together high up the hillside, talking intently. "You and Seb...?"

Anders shook his head. "No. I... well, the attraction is there, at least on my side. You know me, always falling for the hard targets," he said lightly, giving Hawke a look, before looking away again uncomfortably. "He's... a good man. He could have just killed me, or tossed me in a dark cell and thrown away the key, turned me over to the chantry... instead he's given me work, _good_ work, a reason to go on living. He's protected me, even when it would have been easier for him to just give me up. Which reminds me, did you know the Seekers are after you?"

"Varric's kidnapping? We heard about that, on our way up the Minanter – bumped into some dwarf merchant Soria knew, he mentioned it; he didn't know I knew Varric, it was just some gossip about one of the Merchant's Guild leaders to him."

Anders nodded, and quickly filled Hawke in about the seeker that had attempted to snatch him as well, and the little they'd heard of him since. He was just finishing when Zevran gave a groan and stirred.

He quickly rose and went over to look at the elf. "Back among the living?" he asked.

Zevran groaned again. "Perhaps. I hope you have enough power to do something about this now?" he asked, just the faintest hit of anxiety in his voice..

Anders nodded. "To make a start on it, anyway."

The assassin was looking around, and froze as he noticed the group of horsemen a little distance away. "Where is Soria?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Talking with Sebastian, over there," Hawke answered him, gesturing up the hill behind Zevran..

Zevran had to tilt his head almost upside-down to see her, which drew a hiss of pain from him as it disturbed his shoulder. He nodded in relief. "Good."

"I'm going to need some things – bandages, smooth sticks to splint the arm with, some other things..." Anders began.

Hawke nodded. "I'll see what we have," he said, and turned. "Nate!" he called, and waved the man back over. Fenris came along as well. Anders quickly explained what he needed.

"I will see what Sebastian's guards have," Fenris said, and walked off to talk to Guard-Captain Cerin.

Nathaniel set off to find and debark some suitable sticks, while Hawke dug out the small medical kit carried by Soria's party. Fenris returned with a larger one the guards had been carrying, as well as a spare blanket from someone's bedroll to cut in strips for bandaging.

In a short while Anders was ready to begin work, which started with putting Zevran back to sleep using his mage powers, before beginning the long, slow job of working all the bone fragments back where they belonged, and healing the torn and crushed flesh around them.

* * *

Sebastian finished his description of events since Anders' surrender in Starkhaven so many months before. Soria nodded slowly, and resumed her slow walk along the slope of the hill, brow creased in thought. Sebastian walked along beside her, studying the elven woman curiously.

"Am I right in believing that Anders is much changed from the man you knew back in Amaranthine?" he asked her hesitantly after a while.

She nodded. "Yes. I blame myself as much as Justice for the changes in him; he was no murderer, before he and the spirit merged. I should have realized how amiss things were with him when I heard, after I returned from Weisshaupt, that their first act together before they fled had been to kill a group of templars and one of his fellow wardens who'd betrayed him to them. Oh, it was most certainly in self-defence," she added, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. "I wanted to believe that it was no worse than when he and I were attacked by templars in Amaranthine, years ago... that he was forced to it. And then what word of him I had out of Kirkwall was that he seemed to be settled in peacefully enough, doing good works, so I let things rest."

"You knew he was in Kirkwall, then?"

"Of course. He is my man... I do not lose sight of them lightly. I had regular reports from other Grey Wardens and several merchant friends, anyone who had contact with him over the years. I should have come and seen him for myself," she added, frowning. "I was shocked and angered when I heard from the Hawkes of what he and Justice had done. I suspect the spirit influenced him in unwise ways."

Sebastian nodded. "I have wondered for some time now if, with the spirit gone, he is returning to being more like his old self. He seems... a good man, when he is not being driven to extremes."

Soria nodded in agreement. "He was," she said, and told Sebastian a few anecdotes of Anders' time under her command. After a while she fell silent, and turned to look down the hillside, to where Anders was bent over Zevran, obviously at work on healing him. She frowned again, then turned to look thoughtfully at Sebastian.

"Do you care for him?" she asked abruptly.

Sebastian flushed slightly, then looked down the hill toward Anders as well. He considered his answer for a long while, watching him work. "Yes," he finally said, very quietly. "More than I should allow myself to, perhaps. There are... many reasons, why it is not wise of me to care for him. Yet I cannot deny that I do."

Soria nodded. "Sometimes the heart follows a wisdom of its own," she said softly. "Come, let us go see if he's managed to put my assassin back together."

They walked down the hill together. Anders was just tying off the last of the bandages, immobilizing the broken arm against Zevran's side and stomach to prevent movement of the fractured shoulder bones as much as he could, Nathaniel and Fenris supporting the elf partially upright while he worked.

"How did it go?" Soria asked.

Anders looked up, face looking drawn and tired from the sustained effort of healing. "Well enough. As long as he takes it easy and allows it to heal properly, he will likely regain full use of it in time. It would go better if I can keep an eye on it while it heals."

Soria nodded soberly. "I thought you might say that. Can you reawaken him?"

"Of course," he said, and touched his hand to Zevran's head for a moment.

Zevran hissed in discomfort as his eyes snapped open again. He looked worriedly down at his bound arm, then peered up at Soria. "What now, my Warden?" he asked simply.

She sighed deeply. "And now we part ways, my friend," she told him. "I told you from the beginning that you could not accompany Hawke and I all the way. This... merely speeds the parting a little."

Zevran looked at her for a long moment, then turned his eyes to Nathaniel. "And Nate?" he asked.

"I will not be parted from Hawke," Nathaniel said softly, his voice firm, almost menacing in tone.

Soria gave him a very slight smile. "I have long since accepted that you must be included. Your disobeying my order to remain in Amaranthine as Acting Commander has already made it clear that you will not obey me in this."

Nate gave a very slight shrug. "Sigrun is a better choice than I anyway. And someone should be with you and Hawke in this."

"I would have gone, too," Zevran said. "You know my oath to you, Soria."

She smiled down at him. "Yes. Which I have released you from a dozen times at least."

"And I have sworn it again after every time you have released me, foolish woman."

"Stubborn ass."

"Crow, my Warden. Stubborn _Crow_."

She looked at him for a long moment, then turned away, looking at Anders instead, face stern.

"Warden Anders," she said, voice suddenly clear and carrying, full of command.

He drew himself up straight. "Warden Commander," he responded, looking nervous.

"I find you guilty of the crime of murder, for your part in the destruction of the chantry Kirkwall. As your commanding officer in the Grey Wardens, I reserve the right of your punishment to my own judgement, as is my right. Prince Vael, you hold the right of high and low justice in these your lands of Starkhaven?"

"Yes, I do."

"I ask you to hold the prisoner Anders in keeping for me until I have time to properly consider his punishment, to keep him safe and secure from all harm until my return. Are you willing to accept this man as your prisoner in my name?"

Sebastian looked mildly startled. "I... yes. I am willing to retain this man as a prisoner, until such time as you return to claim him."

"Good. Nathaniel, fetch me my writing kit, then begin striking the tents. We have delayed here longer than we should have already," she said, then looked back at Sebastian. "I will give you a warrant, certifying that you are holding this prisoner for me, and that his judgement rests in _my_ hands, no others. Do not surrender him to any man but myself, even if they claim to be my representative."

"As you wish," he said, and gave her a slight, very formal bow.

Nathaniel returned with a slant-lidded box. Soria took a seat on the nearby log, and opened it up, taking out ink, parchment, a pen, and sealing wax. She closed the lid, positioning the parchment on a narrow ledge on the slanted lid, then swiftly wrote out a lengthy document. When she was done she had Sebastian call over his Guard-Captain and two of his men for additional witnesses, and read out the terms aloud. She and Sebastian both signed it and affixed their separate seals to the bottom, after which she had Cerin, the two guards, Fenris, Hawke and Nate all sign as witnesses to it. She neatly folded it and handed it over to Sebastian.

"Take good care of him for me," she said. "Can you also look after Zevran for a time?"

"Of course, m'Lady Soria," Sebastian said. "It would be my pleasure to have him as a guest for however long is required."

"Thank you," she said gravely, and turned to look around.

Nate and Hawke had already struck both tents, and divided things into four piles, one noticeably smaller than the others – Zevran's belongings. It remained only for her and her remaining two companions to pick up their things and go.

"Help me up," Zevran said, voice harsh with strain. Anders frowned at him. "I will not lie here while my Warden leaves," the assassin snapped. "I will get to my own feet if no one will help me with the task."

Anders nodded at Fenris, and the two of them helped the injured elf to stand. He leaned heavily against Fenris for a moment, wincing in pain, then straightened and looked at Soria.

She stepped closer. He reached out with his one free hand, and hesitantly touched her cheek. "Don't forget to duck," he told her, very softly.

She smiled, just slightly, then moved closer, taking his head between her hands and gave him a single kiss on the lips, before moving back again. "Nor you. I release you from your vows for a final time, my Crow. Do not swear so to me again."

He said nothing, through his jaw clenched stubbornly. She looked at Anders for a long moment, then gave him a very slight nod before turning away to look at Sebastian. "Prince Vael, my thanks for your help in this matter, and my apologies for any distress the recent actions of myself and my companions may have caused you."

He bowed deeply to her. "Think nothing of it," he said, eyes gleaming in amusement. "It has been an honour to meet you."

She smiled, then turned and walked away to pick up her belongings, easily slinging them onto her back. Hawke and Nathaniel picked up theirs as well. Hawke glanced at Nate, then took a step toward Anders.

"Anders..." he said, then paused a long moment, the two men looking silently at each other. "Be happy," he finally said, voice rough.

"You, as well," Anders responded, very quietly.

Hawke nodded, then turned away. The two Grey Wardens and the Champion walked away, up the slope of the hill to the west, the others watching silently. At the crest Soria turned and walked backwards for a couple of steps, raising her hand in farewell, before turning away again. Neither Hawke nor Nate looked back. The three passed out of sight over the crest.

Anders glanced at Zevran, and saw his eyes were filled with tears. The elf glanced at him. "I do not believe I will ever see her again," he said quietly, voice rough, then turned his back on the direction she had gone. "Well. It will be a long walk back to Starkhaven, will it not? And I am cold and tired. Soonest begun, soonest ended," he said philosophically.

Anders nodded, setting one hand on the elf's uninjured shoulder for a moment, then went over to talk to Sebastian and Cerin about having a litter put together to transport his patient in.


	62. New Quarters

It was a very long journey back to Starkhaven. Everyone was tired from having been awake all the previous night. Since they had to move at a walking pace anyway, as Zevran was being carried on a litter, everyone dismounted and led their horses, giving them at least some rest. They stopped frequently to change litter-bearers, their pace throughout the day gradually slowing. As nightfall approached they were still some distance from the city, but Sebastian elected to press on rather than setting camp for the night. It was well after dark before they finally arrived at the castle, a cold clear night, the stars sparkling overhead like a scattering of tiny crystals on black velvet.

Sebastian ordered Zevran carried up to one of the finer quest suites in the castle, then turned to Anders, who was standing quietly nearby, almost asleep on his feet with exhaustion over the stresses of the last twenty-four hours.

"Anders. I want you to stay in the castle for now, until we have rethought the security of your cottage. Take the suite next to Zevran's, so that you can more easily keep an eye on him."

"My dogs..."

Sebastian gave the mage a tired smile. "I will have Ashes and the dogs brought to your room. And your clothes and whatever other belongings you need."

Anders nodded, and let a servant lead him off. He oversaw Zevran's transference to a bed, checking on his arm and shoulder afterwards, then went to the suite next door and stood numbly in the centre of the first room, too tired to even decide whether to go directly to bed or wait for his pets and things, first.

He heard the dogs coming before they reached the room; a sudden barking as Ganwyn caught his scent, their claws scrabbling on the floor as they ran along the hallway to his door. He laughed tiredly, and opened it, was almost knocked off his feet by Ganwyn in the deerhound's enthusiasm at seeing him again. Haelioni pushed her way through the door, growled at Ganwyn until he left off fawning around Anders' feet, then sniffed intently at Anders herself, all over his feet and legs and hands, her tail waving energetically back and forth.

Anders heard footsteps, and looked up to find Sebastian approaching, Ashes cradled in his arms. "Your cat would not let any of the servants catch him," Sebastian said, an amused twinkle in his eyes. "But he knows me."

Ashes, turning his head around and catching sight of Anders, made a prodigious leap from Sebastian's arms to Anders', meowing plaintively and rubbing himself against him repeatedly. Anders smiled and held him close, running his hand soothingly down the cat's back.

"Thank you," Anders said, quietly.

Sebastian nodded. They stood a moment, just looking at each other.

"I am glad you are safe, Anders," Sebastian said softly. "Sleep well." He turned and walked away again, head lowered slightly.

Anders watched him go, then closed the door and went in search of his bed.

* * *

Anders was sore and still rather tired when he woke the next morning. Ganwyn and Ashes were curled up on the bed with him in their favoured positions, Haelioni stretched out on the floor near the foot of the bed. He sat up stiffly, biting back a curse as he thought of one major drawback of being in a suite in the heights of the castle's central keep instead of down in his own small cottage; the dogs and cat were going to want to do their morning toilet, and he'd have to find his way all the way back down to a door on the ground floor somewhere to let them out. And he'd have to dress first; padding around the keep barefoot in his night clothes as he did in the privacy of the cottage was unlikely to be proper comportment here.

He got out of bed, and walked unsteadily out to the main room, pleased and relieved to see his clothing had been delivered. Some poking around located the bathing chamber for the suite – an even better one than the one in his cottage; the tub was smaller and much less ornate, but it had hot water piped in from a central boiler rather than him having to haul and heat his own. His bathing things, he saw, had also been brought up from the cottage.

A hot bath dealt sufficiently with most of his lingering soreness, after which he dressed and led his dogs out, Ashes purring in his arms. A pair of his usual guards had already been relocated to guard his door here, he saw, and they were able to guide him to a small side entrance where he could let the dogs and cat out for the necessary few minutes.

After they'd returned back upstairs, he went next door to check on Zevran. The assassin was awake already, and while he tried to present a cheerful front, Anders could see it was just that – a front. It was obviously just sinking in for the assassin how long he was likely to be here, healing from his injury, and dependant on others for almost everything.

"Do you need a hand with anything?" Anders asked.

Zevran frowned slightly. "Well, I hesitate to mention it, but there is, uh... a certain _urgency_ to be taken care of, which unfortunately I am unable to manage by myself at the moment..."

Anders grinned. "Need a hand getting up and reaching the nearest garderobe?"

"Exactly."

Anders helped the elf to his feet, and showed him where the bathing chamber was located. Zevran stoically accepted Anders' assistance with the buckles of his armoured skirt and leggings. He was looking a little disgruntled after looking around the room, however. "You know, it is sheer torture to place me in rooms with such a magnificent bathing chamber, when _this_ doubtless restricts me to sponge baths for the foreseeable future," he said plaintively, gesturing with his chin at his injured side. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I last had a good hot bath in a real tub!"

Anders grinned. "Since leaving Vigil's Keep?" he asked, all too familiar himself with the realities of extended travel.

Zevran nodded. "Yes! I do not count squatting in a tiny tin tub in some rancid roadside inn as a real bath, of course."

"Speaking of bathing, I suppose we should get you washed and changed into more suitable clothing," Anders said, frowning at the elf's half-dressed state; he was dressed only in the lower half of what remained of his armour, his upper body nude where it wasn't swathed in the blanket-strip bandaging. "And change those wrappings to proper bandaging, before those begin to chafe. I'll need assistance for that, to keep your arm and shoulder properly supported while the bandages and splits are removed and replaced."

Zevran made a face. "I hesitate to ask, but what became of the rest of my armour?"

"We had to cut it off; there was no other way to remove it short of doing further damage to you."

" _Brasca!_ I suppose it is beyond repair?" Zevran asked, looking distinctly unhappy.

"Quite. I couldn't be picky about trying to locate seams long which to slice it apart or anything like that, and I felt damage to your leathers was more acceptable than any additional damage to you. I did make sure we kept the remains for you though – I recalled you usually had quite an interesting selection of items hidden in seams and odd pockets."

Zevran smiled briefly. "That is well, than. I suppose it will be some time before I can wear armour again anyway; hopefully I can find a decent leather-crafter to fashion me a new set while I recover."

"Sebastian knows of a particularly good one. Once you're able to be up and about we can enquire."

"Thank you," Zevran said, then made a face. "Now I suppose we might as well see to getting this blighted injury dealt with. Again."

Anders nodded. "Let me send to the clinic for my assistants and the supplies I'll need," he said, and went to the door, sending off one of his guards to see to it. He positioned a couple of chairs and had Zevran sit down in one while waiting for Dugall and Sister Maura to arrive, taking some time to expend a little more healing energy on Zevran while they waited for their arrival, doing further repair to his damaged muscles and tendons.

His assistants arrived soon, and he introduced the pair to Zevran. Dugall eyed what could be seen of Zevran's tattoos around the improvised bandages and raised his eyebrows slightly. Zevran noticed, and grinned toothily at the man. "You know what I am," he said straightforwardly.

Dugall nodded warily. "I've seen the like of those tattoos before – Antiva _is_ just over our northeastern border, after all. Crow?"

" _Ex_ -Crow," Zevran clarified, grin widening slightly.

Dugall's eyebrows climbed higher. "I wasn't aware there was more than one way to leave the Crows."

"Neither were they, until I killed enough Crow cells for them to decide that removing me was more trouble than it was worth. Now I just have to deal with the occasional young Crow who has deluded themself into believing that they can kill me and thereby make themself a name."

Sister Maura was looking sharply back and forth between the two men. "An assassin?" she asked, frowning thoughtfully.

Zevran raised his free hand. "My lovely young religious, I swear that no one in Starkhaven is a target of mine. At least not murderously. Amorously is, of course, an entirely different question."

Sister Maura snorted, but a very slight smiled curved her lips. "I didn't mean to question your presence here, however, given your profession I assume you will want to be aware of the exact composition of any medicines I mix for you?"

Zevran smiled warmly at her. "Lovely _and_ intelligent," he said approvingly.

"And immune to flattery, Ser Crow," Sister Maura told him dryly, though the slight smile remained.

"Ex-Crow," he repeated. "As much hard work as it has taken for me to drive the point home with my former compatriots, I am sure you can understand that I consider the distinction to be an important one."

"Of course," she said gravely.

"Well, now that we're all friends, why don't we get this started," Anders said dryly. "Dugall, I'll need you to keep Zevran's arm supported and shoulder unmoving as much as possible while I remove the field dressings. Then I'll immobilize it again with Sister Maura's help, and we'll assist Zevran in bathing and changing," he explained, then paused, glancing hesitantly at Sister Maura.

"I will go mix up a suitable pain medication while you two are taking care of that," she said calmly.

It took most of an hour to get everything done. Zevran and Sister Maura had a lengthy discussion about pain formulations while the initial work went on, which helped to keep the elf at least somewhat distracted from the pain of the bandage change. Eventually Zevran was clean, properly bandaged, and more or less dressed again, in simple leggings he could manage one-handed and a shirt suitable for indoor wear, the shirt loose enough in the body that they were able to pull it on over top of his bound arm. Zevran was looking rather tired out by then, from the discomfort of having so much painful work done, and after Sister Maura returned with medication for him, he thanked the three of them for their help, took a dose of it and retired to bed for a nap.

Anders accompanied Dugall and Sister Maura back to the clinic. As they walked he wondered if he should resume lunching with Sebastian now that Fenris was back, or if it would still be too awkward a situation. He found that the decision was effectively taken out of his hands; once word spread that they had opened the clinic for the day enough patients showed up that they were clearly going to be busy until some time in the afternoon.


	63. Unexpected Embassy

"I did not have time yesterday to say it, but I'm glad that you are back, Fenris – and that you arrived back when you did," Sebastian said as he and the elf sat down to breakfast together. "That we came so close to losing Anders, even after all that had been done to make his quarters more secure..." he trailed off, shaking his head and pressing his lips together.

Fenris nodded in agreement. "It surprised me, how angered I was by his abduction," he said, then frowned slightly. "Not just angered, but concerned, since I have come to regard Anders as a friend," he said, then paused in thought for a moment, his frown deepening before he continued quietly. "And it felt like I had failed him, since I had helped Cerin establish the guard routines that the mage's abductors slipped past."

Sebastian nodded. He, too, had felt as if he had failed the mage. He had sworn that Anders had his protection, and yet it was only sheerest luck that the defences around him had been penetrated by people reasonably friendly to him rather than those bent on his destruction. It wasn't the failure of his duty to his prisoner that had disturbed him the most, however. No. In that long ride along Fenris' trail, what he'd felt most strongly was fear and loss. Fear, that they would find Anders dead or otherwise harmed. Loss, because he'd had no choice but to acknowledge that a big part of his fear wasn't merely because of any sense of duty he felt toward the mage that was his prisoner, but because he _cared_ for the man.

He still wondered how Soria had known to even ask that question of him. And remembered the incredible turmoil it had sent him into. Part of him had still wished to deny that he entertained any such emotion toward Anders. Yet he had found himself unable to lie in the face of Soria's waiting calm, especially knowing her reputation for absolute honesty. It would have touched his own sense of honour, if he had lied to or prevaricated with her. And so he had acknowledged aloud something he'd been trying to deny to himself for days now – that he cared for Anders. More than just cared for in any sort of purely platonic way, either, he could admit now within the privacy of his own head – he _desired_ the man. Lusted for him.

Logically he knew every reason why it was an impossible, inappropriate, incorrect, just plain _wrong_ attachment to have formed. But it was as Soria had said – 'sometimes the heart follows a wisdom of its own'. As his all-too-clearly had.

Simple lust he could have easily ignored, but somehow, without him being really aware of just when, his emotions had become engaged. And that, he had to admit, was a new experience for him. Oh, he'd had sexual partners in the past that he'd liked as friends, or cared about in some general way, but... this was more than that. Especially since Anders _wasn't_ his sexual partner. Nor someone he'd ever felt in the least attracted to, during their years in Kirkwall.

And yet now he most certainly was.

"You're very quiet this morning," Fenris said.

"Sorry, I guess I am still concerned over the events of the past few days, even though we are all safely returned now. So much has happened, in such a short time..." he trailed off, remembering only then that Fenris was unaware of the change in Sebastian's relationship with Anders. It was not something he felt at all comfortable with the idea of talking about to him, so he quickly sought to change the subject.

"Tell me, what did you think of Hawke's companions, especially this elf we have guesting with us now?"

"Zevran? I know almost nothing of him," Fenris admitted. "Our fight was brief, and then he was unconscious for most of the time afterwards. I did get the impression from their talk that he and Anders knew each reasonably well at some point in the past – I would assume back in Ferelden, since he was a companion of Soria Mahariel."

Sebastian nodded. "And the others?" he asked.

"I liked Soria. She seemed to be a very intelligent woman. And efficient. She pried most of the story of Anders' time since Kirkwall out of him in under two hours time."

"Oh?" Sebastian asked, keeping his voice purposefully casual, as he wondered if the mage had revealed anything about the mess the other evening. Was that how Soria had known to ask that question...?

"Yes, he was just finishing explaining about how he and I have been working together, and about Kyla and Gevin and my trip to the keep with them, when you arrived. Soria seemed to think highly of your idea of having the pair of us co-operate to search for a solution."

Sebastian nodded, feeling a surge of relief. He was sure he'd speak to Fenris about the subject some day, but not yet, not now, not when his own emotions were still so unsettled by the development. "And what of the fourth member of their party?"

"Nathaniel? I am unsure what I think of him," Fenris said. "He seems quite dedicated to Hawke, which I was pleased to see. He seemed to dislike Anders; it seemed to be a dislike as much based on a shared history between the pair of them as because he knows Anders was Hawke's previous lover and may have seen him as a threat to their current relationship. He seems very serious and duty-driven. He reminded me of Aveline, only... more dour."

Sebastian grinned. "I'm not sure it that's a compliment, or condemnation."

Fenris smiled slightly. "Some of each, perhaps."

"So, how _did_ your trip to the circle keep go?" Sebastian asked.

Fenris smiled, and talked for the remainder of the meal about Kyla's induction to the circle, and how quickly she'd come to like the place and people. He paused for a moment at the end. "I have told Gevin, that if he would like to visit his sister there some time, I will try and arrange it for him," he said hesitantly. "As brother and sister they are... very close."

Sebastian nodded. He could easily guess one reason for Fenris' hesitation and almost wistful manner at the end. He knew that it had been Fenris' own sister, Varania, who had betrayed him to Danarius, luring the warrior into a trap in the Hanged Man, that only Hawke's intervention had prevented Fenris from killing her as well, after Danarius had been defeated.

As bitter as his relations with his own brothers had been, Sebastian could not imagine any of them stooping to the sort of betrayal Varania had indulged in. Their own sense of honour and duty toward another family member would have prevented it, no matter how acrimonious their personal feelings might have been.

He wondered how Fenris had felt about that; that the sister he had no memories of had so easily betrayed him to the magister. He must wonder what their past together had been like, in that time before the elf could remember. Had they been friends as children, as Kyla and Gevin were? Or had Varania not cared for him even then? Her parting words to the warrior had certainly been bitter enough, full of venom and hatred. Leto, she'd named him, a name the elf had vehemently rejected the one time Hawke tried to use it, preferring to keep the name his hated master had given him over a forgotten name from a childhood he could not recall.

It was not a line of questioning that he thought Fenris would be at all comfortable answering, nor him asking.

"Well. I suppose I should get to work," he said instead. "I have much work to catch up on after yesterday's unexpected expedition. See you for lunch, I hope?"

Fenris nodded. "I will be here."

They parted, going their separate ways. As he walked to his office Sebastian wondered if he should have Anders join them for it. The idea made him uncomfortable, but at the same time he didn't want to make it obvious to Fenris that something had changed between the two of them while the elf was away.

But then the decision was taken out of his hands; news from upriver came, in the form of an unexpected embassy from Tantervale arriving in the city. Word of their approach was supposed to have been sent on ahead , their leader assured him, but their messenger had apparently gone astray. He ended up lunching with the delegation, and spending much of the rest of the day in conversation with them while quarters were quickly arranged for them in the upper city, hearing much more details than Ser Cullen had been able to tell him about current conditions in Tantervale. There was also word that Nevarra had successfully repulsed the Tevinter incursion on their northern border and was now turning their attention to quelling the Orlesian-backed rebellion in the Blighted Hills.

He wasn't sure if he felt more disappointed or relieved that his duties over the next few days would likely keep him from anything more than breakfasts with Fenris before having to dedicate his times to meeting with the delegation and his own nobles and guildmasters.


	64. Amaranthine Tales

Sebastian paused after pulling on his leggings, then stepped over to the nearby window, looking out of it as he fastened the laces. It made him feel a little... wistful, to see the unbroken snow in the walled garden below. In the days since they'd returned, there'd been no time to even begin sorting out how to deal with securing Anders' quarters. He missed catching glimpses of the mage as he exercised the dogs, or on his way to and from the clinic.

Today was the first day in almost a week he'd actually be free at lunch. He'd invite Fenris, of course, and... he hesitated, and stepped back to the wardrobe, pulling out a shirt and pulling it on, slowly tightening the laces while he thought. Yes. He would send word to Anders to come as well, and to bring that elf, Zevran, along with him. He should be healed up enough by now to at least sit at table with them for a time. And Sebastian would finally have a chance to satisfy his curiosity and learn more about the assassin.

After a relaxing breakfast with Fenris, who he asked to carry word to Anders and Zevran for him, he retired to his study, and spent most of the morning working through a budget and a bulky pile of plans for the new neighbourhood being built to help relieve some of the crowding in the city. Work on construction could resume as soon as the snows melted and they had a long enough spell of dry weather for the ground to dry out sufficiently that foundations could be dug in soil, not mud. But even in winter there were things that could be done – the making of the vast amounts of iron- and brass-mongery that the new buildings would require, everything from nails to locks, hinges and handles for the front doors of buildings, as well as a certain amount of fancy stonework, brickwork, and tiles that could be prepared ahead of time for the more ornate of the buildings

Finally he heard the servants setting the table, and hurried through a final page, scrawling his signature at the bottom and adding it to the stack of completed paperwork, then rising and heading out to the sitting room.

Fenris arrived first, and he saw him seated to his left at the table, then when Anders arrived a few minutes later with Zevran, he had Zevran seated at his right as his guest of honour, which placed Anders as far from himself as possible. They quickly settled down to filling their plates, Anders discretely helping the elf with his.

Zevran gave a gracious dip of his head to Sebastian, as close to a bow as he could get while seated and with one arm still bandaged across his torso. "Thank you for the invitation to join you today," he said with an easy smile. "It is a pleasure to be up and out of my rooms. Even as lovely as they are, one does grow tired of doing little more than staying in bed with nothing to keep oneself occupied."

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "I am glad that I finally have time free to meet you properly. I had been hoping to speak with you earlier, but events this week have kept me busy. I understand you were one of the Blight Companions?"

Zevran nodded, and regaled them with several amusing anecdotes of his travels with Soria and King Alistair and their other companions. "Sadly, once the Archdemon had been defeated, we almost all went our separate ways; I was one of only two companions to remain with Soria, and even I had to leave her for a time at first, while I took care of... personal business, in Antiva."

"Oghren was the other, wasn't he?" Anders asked curiously. "I'll never forget my first sight of him – smelled like a brewery, barely able to stay on his own feet, and yet still cutting up darkspawn as easily as an innkeeper's wife disjointing chickens for the pot."

Zevran smiled. "Yes. He beat me back to her side by several months, but then he had the advantage of still being within Ferelden when he decided that the redoubtable Felsi was more frightening than darkspawn."

Anders snorted in amusement. "Is he still in Amaranthine?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. And much sobered; he's become a good father to his three children."

"Three! Did he and Felsi get back together? I thought he'd said having the one girl was frightening enough..." Anders asked.

"He did, but by the time she was four she had him rather firmly wrapped around her finger, he'd sobered up, and then he and Felsi got back together... they've had two more since, twin girls. He has mellowed considerably from the brash drunkard you remember; family life agrees with him. The two of them were speaking of trying again, in hopes of a son as well, just before we left Amaranthine."

Anders frowned. "I'm surprised he's had so many children, what with him being a Grey Warden..."

Zevran shot him a quelling look. "Yes, after the twins were born Soria decided to assign him to duties in and around the keep, mostly – training recruits, patrols in areas that have been long-cleared of any darkspawn, and the like. So there is little danger of him being killed and widowing Felsi. He complains about it occasionally, but I think he does so more because he feels it is expected than for any real wish to be in the front lines again."

Sebastian looked curiously at Zevran. "I must admit, I am rather curious about what both Soria and Hawke were doing in the area . Is it a secret, or can you tell me...?"

Zevran shrugged. "I cannot tell you; I know only that when Hawke came to Amaranthine, he and Soria spent a lengthy time closeted together discussing some news he brought her. She spent the summer and into the fall making sure Amaranthine was in good condition for her to be away for a while, then she and Hawke tried to slip away on their own. Nate and I naturally did not allow them to do so," he said with a nearly predatory grin. "Nate because he and Hawke had become lovers by then, and I because I am... was... Soria's sworn man."

None of them missed the faint look of pain that crossed Zevran's face when he said _was_. He paused for only a single breath before continuing. "Nate I believe wormed their destination out of Hawke at some point in the journey; after that the two of them seemed resigned to his accompanying them. Soria refused to tell me, only that it was dangerous, that she refused to let me accompany them the full way, and that it was something she and Hawke had to do. From a comment I overhead Hawke make once when he didn't realize I was nearby, I believe Flemeth is somehow involved in it."

Fenris frowned. "Asha'bellanar ?" he asked.

Zevran nodded. "The Witch of the Wilds, the woman of many years, yes."

Fenris nodded slowly. "If she is involved, it is doubtless something foul," he said, then glanced back and forth between Anders and Sebastian. "Did Hawke ever tell either of you the story of how he and his family and Aveline left Ferelden and made it to Kirkwall?" he asked.

Sebastian shook his head. Anders frowned thoughtfully. "He mentioned that darkspawn killed their brother Carver, once, when he was very drunk. And I recall Aveline mentioning that her first husband died of the taint during their escape...?"

"Ah. Well, he told Varric, Isabela and I the full tale one night at the Hanged Man," Fenris said, and repeated it for them – the escape from Lothering barely ahead of the horde, the ogre, Carver's death, Flemeth's intervention and the deal she offered him in exchange for her assistance, Wesley's killing. "I was along with him on that trip to Sundermount he made for her," Fenris explained. "Myself, Aveline and Varric, though after we met Merrill there Aveline elected to return to Kirkwall, as we'd already taken care of an ambush she'd been concerned about on the lower slopes. Merrill led us to an altar near the top of the mountain, where she performed a ritual. And Flemeth appeared out of the amulet, spoke briefly with Hawke, then transformed herself into a dragon and flew away."

" _Brasca!_ " Zevran exclaimed, looking concerned. "Do you recall the date of this?"

Fenris shrugged. "Sometime in the late fall of the year of the Blight, I cannot be more exact than that; it was many years ago now."

Zevran swore venomously. "We _killed_ the Witch in the early fall of that year; slew her, in her dragon form, at her hut in the Korcari Wilds south of Ferelden. I still carry a dagger made from one of her teeth! Yet you say she still lives?"

Fenris nodded. "She said something about having put a bit of herself into the amulet, so that she could cross secretly to the Free Marches without any being aware of her. And something about someone named... Morrigan?"

"Her daughter," Zevran said. "Or at least a female witch she raised as one. It was on her behalf that we killed Flemeth; we had found a grimoire that suggested that the reason for Flemeth's unnaturally long life was that whenever she aged, she took over a daughter's body as her own, like a demon possessing a mage. Soria later came to believe that the story was possibly false, a red herring planted to manipulate Morrigan into later unwise actions."

"Such as?"

Zevran shrugged. "I know not the full details. Only that after we killed the witch we recovered a second grimoire from her hut, and that some time later Morrigan used it to perform a ritual, the nature of which Soria never divulged to me but that she later came to think was... false. Not whatever Morrigan thought it was, but something to Flemeth's benefit."

Sebastian frowned in thought for a moment. "Ah! I believe I see... the daughter would be more likely to believe something if it was in a book she thought her mother _hadn't_ wanted her to have..."

"Exactly. Morrigan disappeared after the death of the Archdemon, and no one has heard from her since, at least not that I ever heard of. Not that I necessarily would know if, for example, she and Soria ever communicated at some later point; for all her remarkable honesty, Soria is extremely good at keeping other people's secrets. She feels they are not her truths to share, you see."

"But regardless," he said, and looked glum. "She and Hawke have now disappeared. I hope she will return, someday... but in my heart, I fear she will not, that whatever has drawn her and Hawke on this journey is not something we will ever hear the result of, whether good or ill."

He fell silent for a while, then looked up. "I am sorry, I am feeling very tired. I should return to my room to rest," he said. "My thanks for a most excellent lunch."

"And my thanks for your company," Sebastian said. "I hope you can join us again tomorrow? I did promise Soria I would see you well looked after during your convalescence, and we can hardly leave you to languish in your rooms any further now that you are able to be up and about at least briefly."

Zevran gave him another of those deep nods in place of a bow. "My thanks, I would be most pleased to join you again."

Anders rose to his feet. "I'll see you back to your room," he said. "I'll want to check on your shoulder and arm anyway since you've been upright for such an extended period of time."

Zevran nodded and the two departed. Fenris made his excuses and left as well shortly afterwards.

Sebastian remained sitting at the table for a few minutes longer. That had gone better than he'd feared it would. He'd caught himself studying the mage across the table once or twice, and several times been aware of Anders watching him in turn when he was turned to face Zevran, but... he didn't think think there'd been anything obvious between the two of them.

Perhaps if they both just ignored what had happened the week before, things could go more or less back to normal between them. He could hope so, anyway.


	65. Consultation

Fenris hesitated, then knocked on Zevran's door.

"Who is it?" he heard called from somewhere inside.

"Fenris. I was wondering if I might speak to you?"

The door swung open a moment later, revealing a half-dressed elf; Zevran was wearing leggings and soft indoor shoes, and was still copiously swathed in bandages, but was otherwise naked from the waist up, his hair a loose rumpled mess rather than caught back in the neat braids he usually affected.

"Please, come in," he invited with a charming smile. "My apologies for appearing so unkempt, Anders was called off to the clinic by an emergency before he could help me with my clothing and hair. But, please, come in and have a seat, I welcome company."

Fenris blinked, feeling more than a little surprised. "The mage helps you dress?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. I cannot manage the task all by myself, you see, and since his rooms are right beside mine he thought it made more sense for him to help me than for Dugall to have to come all the way here every morning. I suppose a servant would be a more suitable choice of valet, but Anders is aware of my dislike of having unknown people around myself – especially this close to Antiva. Besides, he takes the opportunity to check on the progress of my healing while he helps me. He says these Maker-cursed bandages can come off soon, though I will still need to keep the arm splinted and in a sling or otherwise supported much of the time, as the shoulder is still healing and considerably weakened."

Fenris nodded slowly, supposing it did in fact make sense.

"Anyway, enough of me, what did you wish to speak of?" Zevran asked, carefully lowering himself into one of the comfortable-looking seats that dotted the sitting room of the suite he'd been put in, and gesturing to a second one nearby.

Fenris took the indicated chair, sitting stiffly upright on the edge of the over-padded armchair, then frowned again. "It is of Anders I wished to speak to you, actually. Or more accurately, of his safety. The success you and Nathaniel had in abducting him made it clear that the measures we had taken to render his cottage reasonably safe were insufficient. I had thought the knowledge I had gained during my years as a bodyguard in Tevinter were adequate, but..."

Zevran smiled, and held up his free hand to stop his flow of speech. "Your measures were quite good, actually. They certainly would have acted well against any larger force trying to gain entry. It is just that Nathaniel and I are superb at what we do, and one or two people may often get in where larger groups would fail. I take it you would like to consult with me on better ways of securing the so-charming little cottage?"

"Just so," Fenris agreed. "Sebastian suggested that I see if you were willing to look at our security measures, around Anders – both for the cottage itself, and the clinic where he works each day. The clinic is of course harder to secure, as people pass in and out of it all the time – patients and their friends and families – but there are more guards on duty there, including within the clinic."

Zevran smiled agreeably. "Well. It can certainly be done – besides, I am sure Soria would be most upset with me if I allowed harm to come to one of her wardens, when I could have prevented it. I would need to tour the areas in question, first of all, to have a better idea of what measures you have in place, and to see in daylight what I have only seen at night and briefly so far. After that I will be better able to judge where you might put little surprises for such as I to encounter."

Fenris nodded slowly. "I can take you on such a tour. I have free run of most of the castle, and its grounds and defences. When would you be free to do so?"

Zevran shrugged. "Now is fine, if you would not mind helping me to dress for it; I doubt these bandages, as voluminous as they are, would be sufficient for a walk in the snow."

Fenris stiffened slightly, then nodded curtly. "I can do that," he agreed warily. "I have done work as a body servant, in the past."

"Excellent," Zevran said with a cheerful grin, and rose to his feet, then led the way to his sleeping chamber.

Fenris felt his eyebrows rising somewhat at the state of the bedroom; the bed unmade, unwashed clothing kicked in a pile in one corner, a large collection of empty wine bottles gathered in another. Quite a lot of wine bottles.

Zevran frowned and coloured slightly, as if only just realizing himself what a sty the room was. "My apologies for the mess," he murmured. "As I mentioned, I do not like letting strange servants near me, and I am currently unable to do much in the way of cleaning myself... though I suppose I could have done better than _this_."

Fenris found a very faint smile curving his own lips. "Actually, I was just thinking that it reminds me of the conditions of my own room in my master's mansion in Kirkwall, where I lived for seven years after escaping him. I had little liking for the place, no reason to care for it. Danarius had always insisted on his rooms being kept spotless. I _enjoyed_ making a mess of the place."

Zevran nodded slowly. "I can imagine reacting like that. This though," he said, and frowned again at the room. "I should do better than this. Soria would be disappointed in me," he said, very softly, reaching out to touch an empty wine bottle lying on its side on the table nearby.

"You miss her," Fenris said.

"Very much," Zevran agreed. "I met her early in the year of the blight. I was supposed to kill her and Alistair, the last two Grey Wardens remaining in Ferelden. I... failed. She should have killed me, and yet she spared me instead. I swore fealty to her then, and have been her man ever since. Only rarely have I been away from her side. And now..." he stopped, and sighed deeply. "She has released me from my vow to her, and gone on without me. I... feel like a boat cast adrift. I move through the world, but it is an aimless path, without destination. What should I do, now that she has left me behind?" he asked plaintively.

Fenris shifted uneasily. "Go on living," he said quietly. "It is the only thing that can be done, sometimes."

Zevran shot him a look. "Ah, I hear the voice of experience in your words," he said, then turned away again. "I have yet some clean shirts, though I suppose I had best see about getting laundry done soon." He walked over to a near-empty backpack, and dug in it, producing a shirt. It was rumpled and creased from long storage in the backpack, and he frowned at it uncertainty. "Perhaps sooner rather than later," he added, amused.

Fenris snorted, and found his lips twisting into a faint smile. "If you would like... we can summon the servant who cleans my own rooms, and I will stay here and guard you while she cleans your rooms as well," he suggested hesitantly. "The tour can wait until after lunch."

Zevran frowned in thought, then nodded. "Thank you. I would appreciate that. It is not that I distrust Prince Vael and his people, you realize, it is just... we are very close to Antiva, here. If – _when_ – word reaches the Crows that I am here, someone will of a certainty try to reach me and kill me. The Crows have never rescinded the reward for my head, which is quite a large one, and some young fool will think he can kill me and make both a great name and a great fortune for himself. It has happened before, you understand, and they have on several occasions attempted to either sneak in as a servant, or to suborn one."

He got a bleak look on his face. "It is unpleasant, killing someone whose only fault was that they loved their child more than the guest whose room they had been assigned to clean."

Fenris nodded slowly. "I will summon the maid," he said calmly.

They went back to the sitting room, Zevran resuming his seat wile Fenris tugged on a bell-pull then went over to the door. He spoke briefly to the manservant that arrived in answer, then rejoined Zevran. A short time later there was a quiet knock on the door, and Fenris went over to let in the maid he'd asked for.

It was an older woman, dumpy and motherly looking, her mousy brown hair caught back in a loose bun, wisps curving around her round face. She glanced nervously at Zevran, then smiled at Fenris and dipped her head. "You asked for me, Ser Fenris?"

"Yes. Serah Martha, this is Ser Zevran, a guest of Sebastian's. His rooms need cleaning, but he was nervous of letting anyone in to take care of them, as he has many things that are dangerous to the unwary. Naturally I thought of you, and how carefully you tend my own rooms."

Martha smiled warmly at Fenris, then looked curiously at Zevran for a moment. "Crow?" she asked cautiously, gesturing vaguely toward what could be seen of his tattoos around the bandaging.

"Just so," he agreed, dipping his head.

"I will be _very_ careful, then and not touch anything you have said not to," she said gravely.

Zevran smiled warmly at her. "Thank you. If you could see the clothing is taking off for laundering, first of all... I fear I am nearly out of clean outfits. Do not touch the backpack, any of my weapons or belts, or the leather armour. Everything else is safe."

Martha nodded, and bustled off to the bedroom, reemerging a few minutes later with the bedding and clothing neatly bundled together. "I will be back shortly to clean the rest," she said, dipped her head to the pair of them, and hurried off.

"That was well done," Zevran said softly. "My thanks."

Fenris shrugged. "It is nothing. I am very particular about people handling my own gear, and have been satisfied with how well she follows instructions. And it was a reason she could understand for why you had not allowed a servant in until now."

Zevran nodded. "Well. Of what shall we talk while all this necessary cleaning takes place?" he asked pleasantly. "Horses, perhaps? Weapons? Or you could tell me what you can of the current arrangements the Prince and yourself have put in place to protect Anders."

Fenris nodded. "That last will do well, I suppose," he agreed.

* * *

Zevran had been pleasantly surprised to find the other elf at his door. Though it would have pleased him more if he had been in a fit state to receive guests; curse whatever emergency had drawn Anders away before he'd had time to help Zevran this morning! At least he'd manage to get out of his nightclothes, give himself a cursory sponge-bath, and partially redress before his unexpected guest had knocked on the door.

The memory of his first sight of the elf sent a pleasant shiver through him as he settled back in his chair, listening to Fenris' delightfully deep and studied voice talking. The dark-coated, white-maned horse appearing out of the heavy snow like a phantom, the dark-coated, white-haired elf sitting it as easily as if the two were one being, not two. Like some strange creature out of legend.

Zevran had actually hesitated to defend himself when the warrior had leapt down off his steed, tearing a great two-handed sword off of his back, the weapon longer than the elf himself was tall – and he was very tall for an elf, of a height with humans when he stood straight. Zevran had thrown late, and the other elf had _dodged_ the dagger by a hair's breadth with a move so fast and graceful it took Zevran's breath away. And then the pale lines etched into his flesh flashed a sudden brilliant blue, with a glow like lyrium crystals, lighting the snow around them both. Such unexpected beauty... Zevran had actually faltered, stunned by the sight, and failed to duck or dodge as the blade scythed for his neck. Only Anders' shout and Fenris' incredible reflexes and dexterity with his weapon had saved his life. At the cost of severe injury, yes, but far better alive and recovering than dead and moldering.

He wondered if the other elf was even aware of what a great beauty he was. Even without his exotic markings and colouring he would have been delectable. With them, he was... sublime. Those limpid green eyes, dusky olive skin tone, the sharp contrast of his brilliantly white hair, his handsome features, the controlled strength and grace of even his smallest movements... yet he had flaws. The rounded hunch to his back and shoulders, and the crooked way he held his legs, that minimized his willowy height and made it seem as if he was perpetually flinching from an expected blow. The way he rarely met anyone's eyes while talking, but instead habitually kept his averted, off to one side or down at the floor. How little emotion he allowed to show in his face or voice, his rare smiles little more than a very slight curving of his lips, or a crooked twitch of one corner. His incredible stillness at times, as if he feared that any movement would bring attention to himself.

Zevran had seen such things before, of course, in servants and slaves with a particularly cruel and domineering master. Ones who would regard upright posture and a meeting of eyes as a _challenge_ , something to be disciplined out of their possession. Ones whose attention it was unwise to attract. Seven years since Fenris had escaped his master, he'd said, and yet clearly the man still ruled much of his behaviour, even now.

He _had_ seen Fenris acting more confident, more himself, when the elf had been in the Prince's company for lunch. Clearly he trusted the Prince greatly, enough to relax in his presence. Zevran idly wondered if perhaps the two had ever been lovers, then dismissed the notion. Prince Vael gave off an intriguingly conflicted mix of signals, but his behaviour towards Fenris, at least in Zevran's sight so far, had always been that of mere friends. Trusted friends, yes, but he didn't think anything deeper existed between the two.

His behaviour towards Anders, on the other hand... Zevran hid a momentary smirk behind his hand. Watching the two of them so carefully not-watching each other at lunch each day had become his single biggest regular entertainment. There was obviously strong attraction between the two, and they were both clearly uncomfortable with it. He wondered how long they'd keep denying what they felt; he'd heard something about the Prince being a brother in the chantry, and still bound by his vows, including ones of chastity. Pah! Such a waste of a handsome man.

Of course, he'd also heard that the Prince had been anything _but_ chaste prior to being sent off to the chantry. He personally thought that this likely made keeping to his vows even more difficult than for someone who had been raised within the chantry, as most brothers and sisters were. Far easier to swear off something you'd likely never experienced than to swear off something that had been greatly enjoyed, the memories of which might still tempt you.

He dragged his thoughts back from his host to his current guest, forcing himself to forgo his speculations and pay more attention to Fenris' words about guards and patrol routes, patterns and routines, nodding occasionally as it he took it all in.

Eventually his rooms were cleaned, the bottles hauled off, the bed neatly remade with clean sheets smelling of aromatic herbs from whatever linen closet they'd been stored in. The maid returned with some of his clothing, freshly laundered and smelling pleasantly of woodsmoke and a recent ironing; they must have dried it by a fire to have it ready so soon. She held it up for him to see. "I will lay this out on the bed for you," she said. "And bring the rest by tomorrow, once it has all been laundered, if that is acceptable?"

"Perfectly," he told her with an approving smile. "My thanks, Serah Martha."

She beamed at him. "It is no trouble," she assured him. "Send for me by name when you need the rooms cleaned again."

"I will do that," he agreed.

She had only just left when there was a familiar knock on the door, and Anders hurried in. He looked mildly surprised to see Fenris there, and nodded in his direction, giving him a quick smile before turning to Zevran. "Sorry I'm so late," he said. "Nasty accident this morning. Overloaded cart, slippery hill, group of people in the wrong place at the wrong time..." he broke off, and shook his head, pressing his lips together and looked tired. "Anyway, it's almost lunch time, we should get you dressed and neatened up."

Fenris rose. "I'll see the pair of you at lunch then," he said. "And we can go on that walk afterwards, Zevran."

"Of course," Zevran agreed. "See you there."


	66. Cold Tour

Anders kept his attention on his plate, listening to Sebastian, Zevran and Fenris talking about the need to increase his security. It felt... very odd, being the prisoner whose prison was being reinforced, sitting there listening to them talk so blithely about it in front of him. Part of him wished he was anywhere but here at this moment. Part of him was thankful that Soria had allowed him to return to Starkhaven at all. More, that she had arranged it in such terms that Sebastian could not easily decline her request, if indeed he'd wished to – which Anders was still uncertain of. Certainly his impulsive actions had made their continued... relationship... much more difficult on both on them.

Yet his mind returned again and again to the moment Sebastian had asked Soria "You are removing my prisoner from my custody?" He knew he shouldn't read more into those words, into that moment, than there had been, but he was convinced he'd seen a momentary bleak look cross Sebastian's face before he's spoken the words, that there had perhaps been the faintest of quavers in his voice as he'd spoken.

He wondered, often, what Soria and Sebastian had talked about during their long walk together. What had the Prince said or done that had made her unexpectedly decide to leave Anders with him, rather than taking him with her, or sending him back to Amaranthine? Or was it solely because of his own request to be returned to the Prince's custody? He didn't think it was just the superior numbers of Sebastian's guards that had swayed her choice; this was _Soria_. Had she wished him returned to Vigil's Keep, or set free, or executed on the spot for his crimes, he had little doubt she would have seen to it, guards or no guards. This was after all a woman who had fought her way across an entire darkspawn-army-occupied city with only three companions at her side.

The thought made him look up and study Zevran. He'd been one of the three. The Three, as it had been said in reverent tones for the first few months after the Archdemon's death. Zevran Arainai. Alistair FitzTheirin. Oghren Kondrat. Names that had briefly become nearly as famous as that of Soria Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden herself. Alistair had then become King Alistair Theirin, of course, his own fame eventually rivalling even Soria's, the 'Fitz' discretely dropped from his surname at the time of his coronation. The other two had faded quickly out of the public consciousness. By choice, Anders suspected, sure that the elf would not have liked being in the spotlight, and that the dwarf wouldn't have cared one iota about it, except for how it earned him free drinks as long as it lasted.

All of them at this table famous – or infamous, in his case – to one degree or another, he supposed. Which depressed him even further, reminding him as it did that he was, once again, the odd man out in the group. Prisoner, apostate mage, _murderer_.

He lowered his head, concentrating on feeding bits of chicken to Ashes, wishing he had an excuse to leave the table early rather than remaining while the other three dawdled over their plates, talking and laughing together so easily.

* * *

Sebastian glanced again across the table, trying not to frown as he took in Anders' withdrawn posture, the way his shoulders were slumped and back curved, as if curling around the cat in his lap. Belatedly he realized that their subject of conversation over lunch had perhaps not been the most diplomatic of choices. His cheeks coloured slightly at the realization of just how _easily_ he'd forgotten that Anders was here as his prisoner, not as his guest. That their improved security measures, once they'd been worked out, would serve as much to imprison him as to protect him.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I look forward to hearing some more detailed suggestions once you have toured the grounds, Zevran. And I thank you again for being so willing to assist with this."

Zevran nodded. "Of course. Fenris, shall we go? I have finished my meal."

Fenris nodded curtly, and rose to his feet, his own glance flicking to Anders for a moment. "Certainly. We should stop by our rooms first and get our cloaks, it was quite cold out when I was out earlier."

As the two elves walked off together, Anders looked up from Ashes. "I should go too..." he began.

"Stay," Sebastian said, impulsively, then looked away, flushing slightly. "I would like to talk with you."

Anders went very still, looking at him almost fearfully, then returned his gaze to Ashes, running his hand repeatedly along the cat's back. "About what?" he asked after a minute, voice very quiet, purposefully emotionless.

Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment, surprised at how much it hurt to hear the distance in the mage's voice. The distance his own actions had forced between them, he knew. A _necessary_ distance, and yet still one he regretted. He missed talking to the mage, missed the easy conversations they'd fallen into the habit of, before...

"Anything," he found himself saying, voice rough with his own suppressed emotions. "How are your dogs?"

Anders raised his head and just _looked_ at him for a long moment. "Well enough," he finally said. "They don't think much of the longer walk to go outside, or how little time they can spend outdoors as a result of it. And I don't think Ganwyn likes the polished stone floors downstairs, they're slippery and he can't run properly on them."

Sebastian allowed a small smile to curve his lips. "And Haelioni?" he asked.

Anders shrugged. "She tolerates them, but then she rarely runs," he said softly, then glanced up again. "You should have seen the first time they encountered Zevran. I think they remember smelling his scent from when I disappeared. He came out of his room to talk with me one morning and they were both on guard and growling right away. It took me a while to convince them that he wasn't any danger to me. Ganwyn took the longest, for whatever reason. He still goes all watchful whenever Zevran is around. Doesn't trust that I know what I'm saying when I tell him the elf is a friend, I guess," he said, the ghost of a smile curving his lips. "Odd, too, since he accepted Fenris long before Haelioni ever did, and she accepted Zevran quite easily."

"Perhaps because Fenris never did any harm to you or himself," Sebastian suggested. "On the other hand I am sure it took some time for his dislike of you to subside, and Haelioni might be seeing the differences in their body language."

Anders nodded. "Perhaps," he agreed. A silence fell between them again. Anders shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I should go," he repeated, very quietly, looking away again.

Sebastian swallowed, and nodded. "All right. See you tomorrow?" And was surprised anew, that it came out as a question, not a statement.

Anders darted him another look, then nodded. "Aye. Tomorrow, if I'm not busy in the clinic."

He hurriedly rose, gathering Ashes in his arms, and walked off. Sebastian watched him leave, then sat at the table for a very long time, mindlessly toying with his fork, before finally rising and going to his bedroom. He'd take a walk, he decided, perhaps catch up with Zevran and Fenris and see what they were discussing.

* * *

Zevran snuck glances at Fenris as they walked along, admiring the other elf. Dressed for the weather in his heavy cloak, he was even more handsome than he'd been at table indoors, the charcoal wool and grey wolf fur making him seem a veritable prince. His posture had improved significantly as soon as he'd put on his sword and cloak, and he moved with calm confidence as he led the way around the castle grounds, exchanging words or nods with random guardsman, hands moving in graceful arcs as he gestured during his explanation of the guard routines and patrol patterns. He was clearly in his element at the moment, any hesitation he might have felt forgotten.

Zevran glanced down, wincing at the sight of Fenris' bare feet on the snow-swept stones of the walkway they were currently following to the tower that overlooked the yard of the clinic – converted from an old stable, Fenris told him – which contained the sally-port by with patients were allowed in and out of the castle grounds. He knew many elves who preferred bare feet, and seeing the almost prehensile way Fenris' long toes gripped the stones underfoot he could agree that it likely did have advantages in terms of traction. Still, he was just as glad his own feet were currently warmly encased in the fur-lined leather boots that Soria had made her regular First Day gift to him each year after noting that his preferred boots of Antivan leather were insufficient protection in the sometimes intense cold of Fereldan winters.

Fenris broke off and he realized he'd been caught staring at the elf's feet. He quickly flashed him a charming smile. "Sorry, I was still listening, I promise! It is just that I was also wondering how you can stand to ride your horses in bare feet in winter. Don't your toes freeze?"

Fenris smiled briefly, a sudden quirk of one corner of his lips. "They would, but I have... I do not know the common name for them. _Tapaderos_... they are like an enclosed leather hood on the stirrups. The ones I use for winter riding are lined in fleece; they keep my toes reasonably warm even in poor conditions. And my cloak is full enough to hang down over my feet and trap the horse's warmth as well, if they do begin to feel too chilly."

Zevrin nodded, then gave a theatrical shiver. "I would still prefer wearing boots, I think! Are your feet not cold right now?"

Fenris shrugged. "A little, but we will be inside soon, and they will have a chance to warm again before we go down to the clinic."

A few more paces brought them to the door into the second floor of the squat tower. Fenris knocked, and a peephole slid open, a guard looking out to see who was there, before the door was opened.

The inside was indeed warmer than outside, though still noticeably chilly, the tiny fireplace in one wall doing little to drive off the chill coming up through the murderholes that allowed the guards to monitor passage through the sally-port below. The doors at both ends were currently closed, there being no one waiting to pass through now that the clinic was closed for the day, which at least meant no strong drafts. But it was still hardly what Zevran would have regarded as warm. The guards apparently felt about it much as he did; all were warmly dressed and clustered close around the inadequate fireplace, save one standing where he could see out an arrow slit with a view of the paved path up to the sally-port entrance. Zevran assumed the men took that particularly chilly post in turn.

Fenris quickly introduced the assassin as "a guest of Sebastian's". He got some speculative looks from the guards, but all told they were reasonably friendly, and when Fenris gravely asked if they would mind demonstrating the operation of the sally-port to the two of them, they readily set to it, using winches to first open and close one pair of doors, then the other, while the senior guard present explained everything. Zevran nodded, Fenris thanked them, and the elves moved on.

They visited the clinic itself next, both of them exchanging friendly words with Dugall and Sister Maura, the pair proudly giving them a tour of the neat little facility. There were several patients resting in the overnight rooms – doubtless victims of that morning's accident. After that they walked back toward the keep, passing through the guarded gateway into the walled garden around Anders' cottage – currently only minimally manned, since the cottage itself was empty.

It was there in the garden, after they'd spent some time discussing its security arrangements, that Sebastian caught up with them. He smiled warmly at the pair of elves. "Good afternoon! I thought I would escape from my own work for a while and come see how your tour was going," he said, and looked enquiringly at Zevran.

"Most satisfactorily," the elf told him. "We were just finishing, in fact. I will need some time to think on what I have seen, of course, but I believe I will be able to make some helpful suggestions."

"Excellent! I look forward to hearing your recommendations; I know Anders and his dogs miss this place," he said, gesturing vaguely at the garden. "So much easier for them to get inside than from inside the castle, and more privacy as well."

Zevran nodded.

"Did Fenris show you the bolthole? The hidden staircase?" Sebastian asked curiously.

Zevran was mildly surprised. "No. I was not aware such existed," he said.

Fenris spoke up. "I did not feel it was my secret to share," he said gravely.

Sebastian nodded. "Let me show it to you, then," he suggested to Zevran. "As much as we are trusting you already, I do not see how knowing this one little secret could possibly hurt."

Fenris spoke up again. "Well, if neither of you have further need for me, I think I will go visit my horses before returning indoors."

"If I have any further questions, I can ask them later," Zevran said, smiling at him and concealing his disappointment at his departure, then turned back to Sebastian, who nodded in farewell to Fenris, before leading the way into the cottage.

Zevran was quite taken with the cleverness of the hidden door, especially when Sebastian demonstrated the dwarven barrier door that could be used to so quickly seal it off. "Magnificent!" he exclaimed. "Nathaniel and I are lucky we decided to capture Anders outside the cottage; with this bolthole he'd have had little trouble evading us with even as much as a few seconds warning."

Sebastian grinned, as pleased as if he'd invented it himself, and after cranking the barrier back open led the way up the darkened stairs to his quarters. "My bedroom," he identified the room they emerged in at the top. "The cottage was built by a great-grandfather of mine, to house a mistress after he and his wife separated. We were not even aware of the existence of the staircase until some time after I'd moved Anders into the cottage. I suppose I should have wondered at what a lengthy walk there was between this room and the garden below," he added with a grin, leading the way out to the sitting room.

"How did the staircase come to be discovered?" Zevran asked curiously.

Sebastian frowned, looking momentarily angry. "Ah, now _that_ is a long tale," he said, and gestured for Zevran to take a seat near the fire, moving to sit down himself as well. Zevran happily joined him, and Sebastian told him about the first attempted snatching of the mage, carrying on from there to other tales with very little prompting.

Eventually he wound down. Zevran thanked him, and promised to attend lunch the next day as well. As they rose and Sebastian started to show him out, he paused. "You know, before Fenris arrived at camp, when we thought we'd gotten away cleanly with the mage... Soria offered Anders a chance of accompanying us on our journey, or of being sent back to Amaranthine to rejoin the Grey Wardens there, if he wished. Do you know what he chose?" he asked.

Sebastian frowned. "No, neither he nor Soria mentioned anything about this to me..." he said, and looked questioningly at Zevran.

Zevran smiled warmly at him. "He asked if he might return to Starkhaven instead," he said, then slipped away before the surprised Prince could respond.


	67. Handsome

Sebastian turned over in bed again, twisting his head to look at the nearby window, wondering if the sky was beginning to lighten yet. It had taken him a long time to get to sleep that night, and then he'd woken early with a full bladder, and been unable to get back to sleep afterwards. He'd been tossing and turning ever since.

He sighed, and tugged and kicked at the bedding, shaping it into a more comfortable configuration. He closed his eyes, trying to sleep again, and instead found his mind conjuring images of Anders. The intent look on his face as he'd knelt in the snow, heedless of the cold as he worked on the injured Zevran. The sun glinting on his hair as they walked back to Starkhaven. His tired look just before they'd parted after returning to the castle. The graceful curve of his neck as he'd sat at table the day before, looking down at his cat. The misery hidden deep in his eyes, as he'd glanced up at Sebastian while they talked so awkwardly after the meal.

" _He asked if he might return to Starkhaven instead_ ," the assassin had said.

It had surprised him; shocked him. The man had a chance to escape, to leave freely, and instead he'd wanted to return to his prison? _Why!_

Sebastian didn't believe it could be because of Anders' infatuation with himself. Or at least... not solely that. There must be some other reason, especially after he'd so firmly refused the man's advances.

Ah, _Maker_ , that kiss... it haunted him still, the memory as sharp and clear as if it had happened just minutes ago, not almost two weeks ago. The wine-sweet taste of Anders' mouth, the way their bodies had fit together. He sighed, shifting in bed as his body responded to the memory, groin tightening pleasantly. He reached up and lightly touched fingers to his mouth, recalling the pressure of lips and tongue as they'd kissed so desperately. How he'd suddenly broken it off, both of them breathless with it, their lower bodies still tangled together until he'd forced himself to move back, opening a little space between them. He remembered the clean scent of the man, balsam and just a trace of male musk, the heat of his body as they'd stood motionless against the wall while Sebastian fought for control. A control badly frayed by his own desire for the man.

He flushed, remembering how he'd been sneaking admiring looks at Anders all that evening. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself at the time, but he'd been delighted to see Anders wearing the gold scarf that he'd given the man. Had wanted more than once to touch him, to kiss him, so tantalizingly close. He had thought it was only himself he was teasing with such thoughts, such longings.

He groaned quietly, shifting again as his cock hardened further. He thought again of Anders, curled up and relaxed in the chair by the fire, a glass of wine held in hand, cheeks flushed from the wine or embarrassment or some other emotion, he wasn't sure which, his fair skin gilded by firelight. The warmth of his eyes, his gentle smile, those long-fingered hands, so assured and skilled at everything they did. His own hand started to reach down, stroking along his belly, to where his erection was now rigidly upright, _aching_ to be touched.

No. He stopped the movement short of its destination, moved the hand aside, knotting fingers into the sheets. _No_. He would not pleasure himself to thoughts of the man, while denying himself the reality of him. If the one was wrong, than surely so was the other, he told himself sternly. He turned his head and stared fixedly at the window, waiting for the sky to lighten, forcing himself to think of other things while the tightness in his groin slowly subsided.

As soon as the rectangle of glass finally began to lighten, he rose, and went to draw himself a bath. He tried to relax in the hot, scented waters, and instead found himself tensing again, his mind still in a turmoil. _Why_ had Anders wanted to stay. And why had the elf thought it necessary to tell him so?

* * *

Fenris paused for a moment as he turned down the aisle to Ari's stall, and saw a familiar blond head of hair ahead of him. Zevran, standing at Aer's stall, rubbing the nose of the black gelding. He resumed walking, leading Ari back to his stall.

The assassin looked up at his approach, and gave him a welcoming smile. "Fenris! A pleasure to see you again. I was walking in the grounds – Anders has told me that I may take light exercise without worry of damage, that the bones are healing well – and I found myself thinking it was likely time for you to be returning from your daily ride. This is your other horse, is it not?"

"Yes," Fenris agreed. "That is my remount, Aer – Aerynos – and this is Arianblaidd, or Ari," he explained, as he opened the door to Ari's stall and led the horse in.

Zevran smiled. "Charming names. Did you chose them yourself?"

"No. They were the names they already had when Sebastian gifted them to me."

"A princely gift," Zevran said approvingly, leaning on the stall door and watching Fenris remove the task from his mount. "And with that name, your Ari was clearly fated to be yours."

"Oh?" Fenris asked, giving him a look of incomprehension.

"Did no one tell you? In the old tongue of the mountain people, it more-or-less means silver wolf, which goes well with your own name of Fenris, or little wolf in the Dalish tongue. And Aerynos is night air, a fitting name for a horse of such superb darkness."

Fenris frowned, and hung his saddle and saddle blanket over the stall door beside Zevran, then turned and looked at Ari for a long moment. "Silver wolf?" he said, then laughed briefly. "Interesting," he said, and picked up a pair of curry combs from a shelf and set to smoothing out the saddle marks from his ride.

Zevran remained where he was, watching Fenris work over the horse. Fenris glanced at him once or twice, wondering why he lingered, why he'd made a point of being there to see Fenris arrive. Zevran seemed not in the least perturbed by his silence, merely leaning companionably on the top bar of the door and watching him work.

"How is your arm?" Fenris asked after a while, just to break the silence.

Zevran shrugged his one good shoulder. "Mending slowly. I am looking forward to getting out of these bandages, even if it will be some time before I will have full use of the arm again. Not being able to even move it is quite irksome. Besides, it spoils the line of my shirts."

Fenris snorted in amusement, then finished currying Ari and stepped to the door. Zevran moved back, giving him room to exit the stall. He closed the door and picked up his saddle and saddle blanket to return to the tack room. Zevran followed along, looking around interestedly as they walked. Fenris handed all his tack over to the stable boy who managed the tack room, and led the way back out of the cavernous stables.

"A pleasant day, is it not?" Zevran said, looking around appreciatively. It had snowed again briefly the night before, and everything was coated in a fresh layer of white, gleaming brightly in the warm sun.

"Yes, the day is rather fine," Fenris agreed. "The snow should start thawing soon, Sebastian tells me. I am not looking forward to the slush while it does so," he added with a grimace.

"Almost enough to make you want to put on boots?" Zevran asked.

Fenris smiled crookedly at the other elf. "Almost," he agreed.

"So... I was wondering, do you have anything to do between now and lunch, or would you be free to join me in my rooms for a while? I could use the company," Zevran asked.

Fenris frowned. "I... suppose I'm free," he agreed after a few seconds.

"Excellent! I find one of the most tiresome things of a long convalescence is how boring it gets. Especially if one is far from one's friends, and has no visitors. I swear at the moment I would even welcome a visit from Anders' dogs, since they would at least be company of a sort."

Fenris looked sideways at the elf as the entered the keep and began to climb up the stairs to the floor where Zevran's quarters were. He wasn't sure just what the elf meant by such a comparison.

"You are... lonely, here?" he hazarded.

"Yes, very much so," Zevran said, and sighed. "Not only is my Warden gone, but I am in a strange place, among people I barely know. If I was back at Vigil's Keep, I could at least count on having regular visitors to my rooms, friends and lovers dropping by to help keep me amused. Here... well, apart from Prince Vael so generously making me welcome at his table for lunches, and Anders dropping in to help me change clothes twice a day, I have very little to look forward to," he said.

They reached the door to the assassin's room. He opened the door and stepped in, then turned and smiled welcomingly at Fenris. "But now I at least have you as a guest. Will you join me in a glass of wine, perhaps?" he asked, and gestured to a bottle and glasses sitting waiting on a table at one end of the couch. Clearly his invitation had not been an impulsive one.

Fenris hesitantly entered the room. "Of course," he said. "It would be my pleasure."

"Excellent," Zevran said, smiling broadly, and walked over to the table. "Another pestilential side effect of only having one arm," he remarked, turning his head to smile again at Fenris. "Opening wine bottles one-handed is hardly as graceful a process as with two."

Fenris started to offer to open it for him, but Zevran had already turned back to the bottle. He pulled a small knife from his belt, stabbed it into the cork, and pried and twisted it in a single surprisingly smooth movement, the cork popping out of the bottle effortlessly, the bottle rocking slightly on its base but quickly steadied by his fingers, thumb still holding the knife nestled against his palm. Fenris felt his eyebrows rising. That had hardly been what he'd call a _clumsy_ opening of the bottle. He wondered if the elf's denigrating words had merely been to draw attention to the sureness with which he managed the task one-handed. He had known others to do such, though he saw little point to such false modesty.

"Please, have a seat," Zevran said, gesturing gracefully at the couch after returning the knife to his belt, before picking up the bottle and beginning to carefully pour out wine into the waiting glasses. Fenris barely hesitated, then sat down at the far end of it from where Zevran stood.

The elf put down the bottle, passed one glass to him, then picked up the other before taking his own seat. He lounged back, crossing one leg over the other, and took a sip of the wine, then smacked his lips appreciatively. "This is very nice," he said.

Fenris hurriedly took a small sip of his own, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. "It is pleasant," he said agreeably. "A local wine, I would guess."

Zevran grinned widely at him. "Yes, from one of Prince Vael's own estates, I was told. It must be pleasant, owning one's own wineries and being able to keep the best of the pressings for one's self.."

Fenris made a noise of agreement, and took a second sip of his wine. They talked wine for several minutes, a subject the other elf turned out to have a good knowledge of. All too soon Fenris found his glass empty, Zevran having only put a small amount in their glasses to start.

"More?" Zevran asked, smiling broadly.

"Yes, please," he said, holding out his glass.

Zevran picked up the bottle, and slid closer along the couch to pour some into Fenris' glass, making a long arm to put the bottle back on the table afterwards, rather than moving back. Fenris felt vaguely uneasy, but then Zevran asked a question about his sword, and he relaxed again as he told Zevran about losing his previous blade in mid-river while coming up the Minanter, and how Sebastian had bought him the new blade as thanks for saving his life, which led to Zevran asking him for the full story of his journey up the Minanter. The tale and subsequent refills of both their glasses distracted him enough that he didn't notice how Zevran kept edging closer to him each time he shifted position. Not until he suddenly realized the elf was right beside him, so close that he could heal the heat of the elf's leg where it lay next to his, not touching but... closer than he liked.

He broke off, feeling uneasy, and turned to look warily at Zevran.

Zevran smiled calmly at him. "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" he asked softly.

Fenris blinked, taking a moment to process the unexpected question, then frowned and stiffened. He had, indeed, been referred to as _handsome_ before. The memories were not pleasant ones. "Yes," he grated out sharply. "Usually right before they asked my master to loan me to them for the night. If he liked them enough, or wanted a favour from them, he'd usually say yes."

Zevran's easy manner disappeared, and suddenly there was a wider gap between them again, the elf having moved smoothly back away from him. "I am sorry," he said, quietly. "I did not mean to rouse unpleasant memories for you."

Fenris looked away, feeling uncomfortable at the strength of his own reaction. Zevran had likely meant it as a compliment, he realized. "No, I am the one who should be sorry," he said, equally quietly. "You could not know..." he trailed off, not sure what he'd meant to say.

"I should have _guessed_ ," Zevran said with quiet vehemence. "I knew you were a slave, you have said as much several times. Slaves are rarely given any choice in such matters. Especially the handsome or pretty ones," he said bleakly. He fell silent, then reached over and picked up the bottle again. "Almost empty. Would you care for more?" he asked, and held it out.

Fenris chewed on his lower lip for a moment, wondering if perhaps it would be best to leave. But... he _had_ been enjoying himself, talking with Zevran, at least until that particular question. Silently he held out his glass, nodding briefly, and Zevran split what was left in the bottle between them.

"So, tell me about your mornings rides," Zevran asked. "Do you go anywhere in particular, or just wherever the mood takes you?"

Fenris relaxed slightly, glad Zevran had moved on from the previous subject. They continued talking until it was time to go and join Sebastian and Anders for lunch.


	68. A History Unfolded

Sebastian watched Anders and Fenris leaving together. He'd hoped to have a chance to speak to the mage privately again, but Anders had eaten quickly and then reminded Fenris that they should resume his writing lessons, and the two had hurried off together as while Sebastian and Zevran were still finishing their meals. As he turned away from the door, he found his eyes meeting Zevran's as the elf also turned back from watching them depart.

"I fear I have made Fenris uncomfortable," Zevran said softly, a slight smile crooking his lips.

"Oh? How so?" Sebastian asked, picking up his knife and fork to cut another bite of steak.

"I told him I thought he was handsome."

Sebastian blinked, then resumed eating, chewing and swallowing before commenting. "I can see how that would disturb him," he said cautiously.

"You and he have been friends a long time, have you not?" Zevran asked curiously.

"Yes, we have. About seven years now. He's known Anders about a year longer than that, but it is only recently that the two have come to like each other enough to truly be friends."

Zevran nodded. He picked up his wine glass, and took a sip from it, then looked down at it, rolling the stem between his fingertips, watching the surface of the red wine swirl. "I don't suppose you could tell me a little about Fenris? I... don't like misstepping as badly as I did with him. Oh, nothing that he would consider a secret, of course. It is just that I would like to learn more of his past, and I suspect it is a subject he dislikes."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "Dislikes intensely, yes," he said, and picked up his own wine glass, taking a long sip then putting it down again, forehead creasing in thought for a while. "All right," he agreed. "I suppose I can tell you at least some of the more commonly-known things about him. Why don't we move to more comfortable seating first though."

They both rose, and moved over to the seating near the fire, taking their glasses with them. Sebastian carried over the half-finished bottle of wine from lunch, and topped up their glasses before beginning. "You are aware he was a slave in Tevinter?"

"I deduced as much, yes. He has mentioned once or twice a master – Danarius? – and that he was bodyguard to a Tevinter magister. And a body servant. And whored out, when his master felt like allowing guests to make free of him," he added, frowning darkly.

Sebastian nodded. "All of that, yes. The magister made him a bodyguard as part of an experiment – those lines on his flesh, they are some sort of brand or tattoo, made with lyrium. It... gives him odd powers. They light up when he is angry, startled, upset, aroused... any strong emotion, really."

Zevran nodded. "The blue flash, yes – I saw it, right before he attempted to separate my head from my body. Lucky for me, Anders managed to convince him not to. Though it was a closer-run thing than has happened to me in years. Quite unnerving. Does it only happen from emotion?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No. It occurs sometimes when he is too close to magic, which also causes odd sensations in the lines, he tells me. Pain, most frequently. The process of etching them into his skin was itself painful, so torturous that he cannot remember anything from before when they were added to him."

"Ah, I have heard of such happening, when the pain of torture becomes too terrible to bear," Zevran said softly. "The mind retreats, as if the person is hiding within themselves. Or breaks entirely. Sometimes the person recovers later, once they begin to feel safe again. Sometimes they die from it."

"Well, he survived it, though I think it may have been a close-run thing. But he has never regained his memories. He spent many years as a slave to Danarius. A cruel master, by everything he's said. They became accidentally separated once, following a battle between magisters and fog warriors on Seheron. The fog warriors took Fenris in, and healed his injuries. He lived peacefully among them for a time – his first taste of real freedom. Then Danarius found him again, and made him kill the warriors, since they are as much rebels to the Imperium as they are to the Qunari," he said, voice grim. "Whatever loyalty he might have felt to his master before that died with them, I think. After they returned to Tevinter he managed to escape, and fled to Kirkwall. He'd been there at some time before, with Danarius, and knew slavery was illegal there. Danarius sent hunters out to try and recapture him numerous times; they all died, in one way or another. Often at the hands of Hawke and his companions."

"He mentioned something about living in his master's mansion?"

Sebastian smiled crookedly as he topped up their glasses again. "Yes. The place was pretty much a ruin by then. I suspect he must have been very young when he'd been there with Danarius before. Or the magister had very strange ideas about what made a livable home; there were gaping holes in the ceiling, fungi growing everywhere, tiles knocked loose from the floors... a mess. And even more messy after Fenris moved in."

"He did say something about his master always preferring his quarters immaculate, and that he'd enjoyed making a mess of the place," Zevran observed.

Sebastian snorted. "More than a mess. A sty. An abattoir. Local thugs would break in now and then, thinking to find forgotten riches there, perhaps. Or slavers would come after him. He'd kill them and leave the bodies to rot wherever they fell, as long as it wasn't in the one room he actually lived in. I don't think I ever visited the place without seeing at least one fresh corpse. He said something once about it being a warning to the smart ones, and that perhaps given enough time and killing of the stupid ones, he'd be left alone."

Zevran laughed shortly. "Sadly there is never a shortage of stupid people, is there?"

"Aye. Or the merely desperate," Sebastian agreed. He frowned down at his drink. "Is there anything else you wanted to know about Fenris?"

"Well. One thing. Perhaps a little sensitive to ask..." he trailed off.

Sebastian looked at him sharply, and waited for him to continue.

"In all the time you have known him, has he ever, ah... taken a lover?"

"No. And not for want of opportunity. Isabela – another one of Hawke's companions – made several attempts to lure him into her bed. And failed."

"Isabela, eh? I know her well. If _she_ failed to interest the elf, than he is either truly challenging, or completely uninterested in female flesh."

Sebastian frowned at Zevran. "Challenging? I hope you are not thinking of pursuing Fenris as some kind of... of... of _game_. For that is the intent behind all these questions, is it not? You are... _interested_ in him. In bedding him," he said, and scowled darkly. "If you harm him..."

Zevran hurried held up his hand. "I swear, I have no intent to harm him at all. Though yes, I do think he is more than passably handsome, and would enjoy engaging in mutually pleasurable activities with him. Surely, with what I have heard of your own past, you can understand the impulse?"

" _Intent_ and actual outcome may not depend on one another," Sebastian said, still frowning. "Fenris is many things, not the least of which is my friend. But he is also in some ways very innocent, even naive. Tread lightly in any attempts to seduce him. For I swear to you that if you trifle with his affections, if you hurt him, and he doesn't rip out your heart out of your chest himself, I will kill you myself."

"Why do I get the nasty suspicion that you are not speaking metaphorically of hearts and ripping?"

"Because I am not. It is one of the powers those lines of lyrium give him, to reach _inside_ a living creature. Anger him – and me – at your peril, elf."

Zevran nodded. "I will heed your words, I swear. I will not offer Fenris more than I am able to give, nor take from him more than he is willing to offer. I _do_ have some morals, even if popular belief seems to credit me with fewer than a cat in heat. I blame Isabela and her so-charming stories for that. Well, and I was sometimes rather a cad when I was younger, before I left the Crows and their cold-hearted ways behind. I will be mindful of his feelings, and not mislead him of my intentions."

Sebastian snorted, but one corner of his lips twitched in a very faint smile, as if he recognized bits of himself in that description as well. "See that you are," he said.

"Most assuredly," Zevran said, "Well. I suppose that is more than enough food for thought for me for now. I thank you for enlightening me about Fenris. I would not wish to offend him. Or you."

Sebastian nodded. They both rose, and Zevran bowed to Sebastian, then turned to leave.

"Zevran..."

"Yes?" he asked, pausing and turning back to Sebastian.

"What you told me before you left the other day... why did Anders want to stay here?"

Zevran smiled slightly. "I think you would need to ask _him_ for his reasons. They are not mine to share."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"Because I thought it was something you needed to know. Was I wrong?" he asked innocently.

Sebastian frowned in thought for a moment. "No, you were not wrong," he agreed, very quietly.

Zevran nodded to him again, then left.


	69. Shifting Perceptions

It was late, but he still didn't feel in the least tired. Sebastian had been sitting by the fire for most of the evening, just watching the flames burn slowly down. There was an open bottle of wine on a low table at his elbow, and a wine glass held forgotten in his hand, but he was far from drunk, having barely sipped at his wine more than a half-dozen times over the evening.

One of the logs in the fire gave an especially loud popping sound and settled further into the bed of glowing coals. Sebastian blinked, then sighed and put down his glass.

He'd get a book from the library, he decided, something dry and boring, and sit and read for a while. Maybe that would help him to sleep. Rising to his feet, he picked up a candlestick from the mantlepiece and deftly lit it from the fire, knowing the library would be unlit this late in the evening. He stepped out of his apartments, and nodded to his guards on duty there. "Stay," he told them. "I am just going to the library."

They nodded, and remained where they were, the door of the library being visible from their post. He had started towards it before he realized there were more guards there, standing patient watch. He recognized the pair; Anders' guards. He walked closer, then stopped. "Is Anders still in the library this late?" he asked softly.

The senior of the pair nodded. "Aye, m'Lord. Since his lesson with Ser Fenris this afternoon. He had dinner brought up. Last time I checked on him he was reading."

Sebastian hesitated, not wanting to disturb the mage, then remembered his exchange with Zevran earlier. Perhaps he should talk with Anders after all. He walked forward, nodding thanks to the guards as they opened the doors for him.

Anders may have been reading earlier, but he was not now. The library was darkened, save for a single candle in a holder on the desk centred in the bay of tall windows at the far end of the room, a tiny circle of dim light in the vast darkened cavern of the room. Sebastian walked quietly forward, his own candle casting a similar dim circle of illumination around himself. It was only as he drew closer that he saw the dark form silhouetted against the windows, standing looking out into the night, just beyond the reach of the light from the candle on the desk. Ashes was stretched out on the desk near the candle, eyes closed and chin tucked down in a particularly leonine posture, his deep purr and the faint scuffs as Sebastian's soft indoor shoes as he walked forward the only sounds in the room.

He looked from the cat back to the man as he moved closer, then out the darkened windows beyond the silent mage. It was snowing out again, he realized, a slow, steady snowfall, large fluffy flakes of snow drifting down past the window in an endless cascade. He had a sudden memory of being a small child, and leaning against his grandfather's chair by the desk, the two of them watching a similar snowfall spiralling down outside late one evening, and the odd sensation of drifting movement it sometimes gave one, as if the entire castle was drifting slowly upwards, rather than the snow falling downwards. For a moment he felt almost dizzy with the memory of that strange shift in perceptions.

He stopped beside the desk. He could see his own reflection, dimly reflected in the glass. "Anders," he said, softly.

Anders started and turned around, looking almost frightened for a moment, until he saw who it was. "Sebastian," he said quietly, and moved a step closer, into the light.

Sebastian felt his heart lurch at the sight of the man, the candles casting odd shadows over him, throwing every fold of his clothes into sharp contrast, gilding his skin with their faint golden light, gleaming in subtle highlights off his hair. For a moment their eyes met, dark blue and honey-brown, blown wide and dark in the dim light, and Sebastian felt his mouth go dry with the realization of how much this man had come to mean to him. How very much he wanted to touch him, to hold him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it had gotten," Anders said, looking quickly away, off to one side. "I should go."

"No. Stay... please," Sebastian said, softly. "I... we should talk," he added hesitantly.

A flick of a worried glance his way. "About what?" Anders asked, looking at his cat rather than at Sebastian.

Sebastian sighed. "About a lot of things," he said. He looked around, then put the candlestick down on the desk, pushing it towards the middle, and sat down, hip hitched on the edge of the desk. "Sit, if you want," he offered, gesturing at the chair behind the desk.

Anders gave a tiny shake of his head. "I'll stand," he said.

Sebastian nodded. He glanced at Anders, then turned his own gaze towards the snow falling outside, feeling uncomfortable himself with the odd intimacy of their closeness within that circle of light in the darkened room. "Zevran told me that you'd been offered a choice to either travel with Soria, or go back to Amaranthine if you wished, and that instead you asked to be returned to Starkhaven. Why?"

Anders gave him a startled look, then abruptly turned away, looking out at the snowfall was well. "You know one reason," he said, voice low and pained.

"Aye, I do," Sebastian quietly agreed. He looked at the man's back, his hunched shoulders, his withdrawn posture, then turned his attention to Anders' faint reflection in the uneven glass; standing between it and the candles as he was, he was more a darker area limed in faint light than a brighter shape as Sebastian's own reflection was. "But I cannot believe that is the only reason. Not after..." he trailed off, then took a deep, steadying breath. "Surely you had other reasons s well?"

Silence hung heavy between them for several long minutes. Finally Anders raised his head, looking just a little to the side, towards where Sebastian sat behind him on the edge of the desk. He raised his hand and set it gently against the glass, fingers stroking downwards for a moment as if tracing the paths of the falling snow outside. They both watched his hand.

"Yes, there are other reasons," he agreed, voice low and even. He swallowed, then continued. "I have friends here now – Fenris, Dugall, Sister Maura, some of my guards. And my pets. And you have given me things to do, _useful_ things that need doing, like healing the sick and exploring this question of freedom for all. Together we are doing good things for the circle mages you've taken in. And for young mages like Kyla. I want to see this through. Perhaps it can make up at least in part for the harm I did."

Anders frowned, then slowly continued. "More than that, after Kirkwall, I... stopped trusting my own decisions. I am scared, sometimes, that Justice will _come back_ , and that once again I will see the world in black and white instead of in the myriad shades of grey that things really are. That he... that I... that _we_ might do harm again. As we did in Kirkwall."

He fell silent for a moment, single finger tracing a shape against the glass, a curved line. "I trust you to tell me what it is right for me to do," he continued, very softly, voice barely above a whisper. "I trust that if Justice returns, that you and Fenris would..." he paused, swallowed again. "Would see to it that I could do no harm to anyone. Whatever it took."

His hand moved on the glass again, making a cupped shape against it. "But it is you yourself that is still my main reason for returning. I... care for you, very much," he finished, very quietly, and stood still, as still as if frozen, just watching his hand where it rested against the glass.

Sebastian swallowed, heavily. Drew a deep breath. "I care for you as well," he admitted, very softly, and saw the tremor that passed through Anders at his word, the way his hand jerked across the glass before returning to its former position. And realized, suddenly, that at the angles they were standing at, the hand was touching his own reflection, from Anders' point of view. That those little caressing movements against the glass had been Anders touching _his_ image. A lump formed in his throat.

He held out his hand. "Anders. Come here," he said hoarsely.

Anders looked back over his shoulder then, eyes wide and frightened, hand dropping from the glass.

"I will not hurt you," Sebastian whispered. "Come _here_."

The mage turned, and took the few steps to close most of the distance between them, stopping just beyond reach. Sebastian leaned forward, and caught his hand, drawing Anders closer. He looked down at the single hand in both of his, feeling the the chill where it had rested on the cold glass, the heat in the rest of it. He studied it, as if he'd never seen it before. The long, strong fingers, the broad palm, the back ridged with veins and tendons and an old scar. He searched for the words he needed, and could not find them.

"The Maker has gifted you with healing hands," he finally said. "I d not believe that mage powers are a curse, as some would have them be, not when I have seen the wonders you have worked, both in Kirkwall and here. They are a tool, and the good or evil in them comes from the way they are used, not from their mere existence."

He forced himself to look up from the hand, to meet Anders' eyes. The mage was watching him, standing very still. Keeping a grip on Anders' hand with one of his, he raised the other, and very gently reached out to touch Anders' cheek, before letting it come to rest against his neck, threading his fingers into the mage's red-gold hair, feeling his pulse thudding beneath the heel of his palm as it had that fateful night.

"I care for you as well," he repeated his earlier words, softly. "Though you know as well as I, all the reasons this is... an unwise attachment. I..." he paused, and blinked several times, swallowed. "I want you in my life, Anders. At least as a friend. I cannot promise to be more than that, not now, not yet. Can that be enough for you?"

Anders was blinking now too. His back and shoulders slowly straightened. "Yes. That is enough," he agreed softly.

Sebastian released his hand and rose to his feet, and very carefully closed his arms around the other man, holding him close. He rested his forehead on Anders' shoulder, felt the mage's arms closing hesitantly around him as well, his head resting in a like position. They stood silently that way for a long while, just holding each other gently, the room silent again save for the continued rumble of Ashes' purring and their own slow, deep breaths.

"Thank you," Sebastian finally said, releasing the other man. Anders nodded. His own hand lifted for a moment, touched Sebastian's temple, thumb brushing lightly against his cheekbone. His eyes were... Sebastian hadn't a strong enough word for the look in his eyes. Exulted, perhaps. The mage leaned forward, gave him a light, chaste kiss on the lips, then stepped back. A warm smile was on his lips, an equally warm look in his eyes.

"Good night, Sebastian," Anders said quietly. He picked up Ashes and his candle and walked away.

Sebastian watched Anders' reflection in the glass, retreating away from him, his back straight and his stride confident. A smile curved his lips, and he felt a great peace fill his heart. He stepped to the window and stood watching the snow falling for a while, then finally picked up his candle and returned to his own rooms. He slept easily, and very soundly.


	70. Uneasy Interest

By morning the snow had turned to rain, but Anders was feeling far too happy to let a little cold rain ruin his good mood. He quickly put on his clothes from the day before to take the dogs and cat out to the yard for their morning toilet, the dogs not caring about the rain but Ashes clearly disliking it, dashing out of shelter only just long enough to empty his bowels before dashing back indoors. He sat at Anders' feet, fastidiously licking himself dry, until the dogs finally came back in, dripping rainwater and slush all over the floor.

After returning upstairs and towelling off the dogs, Anders took the time to have a nice hot bath and a proper shave before dressing again in clean clothes, smiling as he wrapped the gold Dalish scarf around his neck when he was done. Scooping up Ashes, he went next door to help Zevran with his own morning cleanup and dressing.

The elf answered the door in his nightclothes, and smiled as he took in Anders' appearance. "You're looking well this morning," he observed.

Anders shrugged. "It's a nice day," he said.

Zevran glanced at the window and the rain pouring down outside. "Some would argue with that statement," he observed, grinning.

Anders laughed. "That rain means it's spring," he pointed out. "And having grown up in Ferelden, I am all in favour of warmer weather."

Zevran nodded in acknowledgement. "Having lived there so many years now myself, I concede the point," he agreed as he led the way to bis bedroom. "Though winter has its attractions as well. It encourages activities such as snuggling by the fire, of which I have always heartily approved."

Anders grinned. "That can be pleasant," he agreed.

"You know, you are a very cruel man," Zevran observed as Anders helped him to get out of his nightshirt. "Coming in all freshly bathed when I have had to make do with nothing more than sponge baths since coming here... cruel!"

Anders laughed, and tossed the shirt aside. "Would you like a bath?" he asked.

Zevran groaned. "I would _kill_ for a real bath! Who would you like assassinated?" he asked hopefully.

Anders snorted in amusement. "No one. We'll have to be careful to keep your arm and shoulder supported, but if you're willing to accept my help, I do believe we can give you a proper bath today before putting the wrappings back on."

"My friend, I would accept help from the Crow Guildmaster, as long as he promised to let me finish my bath before actually cutting my throat. I will gladly accept your help if it means I get to use that lovely tub in the next room," he said fervently.

"I'll start it filling," Anders told him with an amused smile.

"And I will find my toiletries," Zevran said, already moving toward his backpack.

* * *

Anders carefully unwrapped the bandages that held Zevran's arm immobilized, then gently felt the shoulder and splinted upper arm, hands briefly glowing with healing power as he checked on the progress of the slowly mending bones. "I think we can safely remove the splint for a little while as well. You'll have to be very careful not to knock your arm against anything, the breaks are mending well but still very fragile," he explained.

Zevran nodded.

Anders had him remove the loose breeches he'd been wearing underneath his nightshirt first – one less thing to do while he was vulnerable – then unwrapped the final layer of bandages, putting aside them and the splints. Zevran made a face at his arm; it was already looking wasted and pale from so much time spent motionless in its bindings, dead skin sloughing off where the splinted section hadn't been uncovered since the injury had first been bound. Anders carefully guided Zevran into supporting the damaged arm with his undamaged one, then led him to the bathing chamber.

Getting the assassin into the tub while keeping his arm and shoulder reasonably motionless was tricky, Anders having to support the arm while Zevran carefully lowered himself into the steaming water, keeping all his weight on his undamaged right side. Finally he was settled down in it, and resumed supporting the arm while Anders soaped up a washcloth and then gently cleaned the skin. They had to switch around several times, Zevran cleaning as much of himself as he could reach, Anders taking care of anything he couldn't easily reach. He shampooed the elf's hair as well, Zevran sighing in pleasure as the mage's fingers massaged his scalp.

Zevran was smiling happily by the Anders helped him out of the tub. After Anders towelled him dry they returned to the elf's bedroom, where Anders got out rolls of fresh bandaging and carefully re-splinted the arm.

"How much longer will I need to be all bound up?" Zevran asked as Anders carefully checked the arm and shoulder again once he was done, to make sure they hadn't inadvertently re-damaged either.

"At least another week, I think," Anders said. "The ribs are healed well enough that they don't really require support any more, but the shoulder is still weak, as is the upper arm. In a week or so we can probably stop immobilizing the arm, but it will still need support while it and especially the shoulder heals."

Zevran made a face, but nodded acceptance. "Normally I rather enjoy being bound, you know, but in this case I think I would prefer to pass," he said lightly, as he watched Anders beginning to wrap bandages around him, once again immobilizing the arm.

Anders gave him an amused look, and kept on with the bandaging. Once Zevran's bindings were finished, he helped the elf to dress for the day, and combed out and braided his hair for him.

Zevran sighed in pleasure when he was done. "Thank you," he said gravely. "Being properly clean again makes me feel like a new man. Apart from the damaged arm, of course," he added, making a sour face.

Anders grinned as he gathered up the used bandages, to be cleaned and re-rolled. "Well, I should get moving. See you at lunch?"

Zevran nodded. "Of course," he agreed, and saw Anders to the door.

Anders went back to his own rooms long enough to eat the breakfast that had been delivered to his room, thinking wistfully of breakfasts in his own cottage. What was delivered to his rooms here was a bigger, better breakfast than he'd have bothered to prepare himself, but he missed the solitude of those mornings with just himself and his pets, the quiet routine of preparing his own tea and something to eat. He wondered how long it would take before the cottage was well-enough secured that he could move back.

Clinic went by quickly, mainly involving checking on a few overnight patients, two of whom were well enough to be sent home, and the usual assortment of new patients. No serious injuries or sickness, for which he was thankful. He stayed and talked with Dugall and Sister Maura for a while afterwards. They were beginning to have enough patients staying overnight on a regular basis to discuss the need for getting a third person in to help with the overnight care.

"I'll let Sebastian know we need someone," he promised them, before heading back for lunch.

He felt just the littlest bit anxious as he approached the door to Sebastian's rooms, nodding greeting to the two guards on duty there as his own pair moved to join them. He stepped inside, and saw Sebastian standing by the table, one hand resting on the back of his chair. He looked up as Anders entered, and the smile he gave him... it was just so _welcoming_ , Anders felt almost overwhelmed, and had to blink rapidly for a moment as he crossed the distance to the table.

"Anders. How was the clinic this morning?" Sebastian asked hesitantly, gesturing for him to take a seat while pulling out his own chair and seating himself, his eyes lingering for a moment on the scarf around Anders' neck. He smiled again before he began serving himself.

"It went well," Anders said, and told him some of the highlights of the morning. He had just finished telling Sebastian of the need for someone to provide care to overnight patients when the door opened again, and Fenris and Zevran came in together, Fenris stiffly upright, Zevran looking his usual relaxed self. Fenris quickly moved to take his seat at the far side of the table from the other elf, while Zevran smiled and nodded at the two already there before taking his own seat.

Sebastian quickly agreed to find another staff member for the clinic, then the conversation at the table turned to other subjects. It was a very convivial lunch, Sebastian, Zevran and Anders supplying much of the conversation while Fenris sat quietly, concentrating on his food. As soon as he'd finished eating, he reminded Anders of their reading lessons, and the two left together.

* * *

Fenris sighed and relaxed slightly as soon as they'd left Sebastian's room.

"Shall we use the library again today?" Anders asked him.

"Would you mind going to my rooms instead?" Fenris asked.

Anders gave him a surprised look, but nodded agreement. Fenris led the way downstairs, frowning slightly but remaining quiet until he'd closed the door of his room behind them. He sighed again, then turned to look at Anders. "Do you mind if we skip the lesson today?" he asked hesitantly. "There is something I would like to talk to you about."

"Of course," Anders said, looking at him curiously. "What is it?"

Fenris gestured for him to take a seat, then paced back and forth for a moment, frowning. "It is about Zevran," he finally said. "I am..." he hesitated, and looked at Anders. "You know him, from before, do you not?"

Anders nodded, looking a little mystified. He put Ashes down in his lap, and looked at Fenris curiously. "Yes. From before I left Ferelden and went to Kirkwall – he stayed at Vigil's Keep for a while before I left there. Why?"

Fenris looked away, and bit on his lip for a moment, then suddenly moved to sit down as well, perching uneasily on the edge of a chair, his hands braced on his knees. "Could you tell me about him?" he asked.

"Certainly. Anything in particular?"

Fenris frowned, and worried his lip again. "I don't know. I know so little about him. Everything you can tell me, I suppose."

Anders smiled slightly, and settled back in his chair. "That's quite a lot of things. Zevran has never made any effort to keep his past a secret. Rather the opposite, if anything."

Fenris looked expectantly at him.

"Well. He was born in Antiva, the son of a whore. She was born Dalish. His father..." Anders shrugged. "It might have been the woodcutter she'd first come to the city with, it might have been one of her clients – probably elven as well, since Zevran looks fully elven himself. Anyway, she died in childbirth, and he was raised by the whores, until the age of seven, when he was bought by the Crows."

"Bought? He was a slave then?"

"Slavery is technically illegal in Antiva. _Technically_ they purchased his indenture as an apprentice by compensating the brothel for the cost of his raising, and in theory he could have eventually bought himself free by paying back both that and the cost of his training, equipage, room and board among the Crows. But usually the only _real_ way to leave the Crows is by death – natural or otherwise – so I think you'd agree with me that there is little difference."

Fenris nodded slowly.

"Anyway, he was trained as a Crow – quite a nasty process, with many apprentices not surviving the experience, by what little he's said about it – and then served as one for a number of years. I'm not sure how many, he's never said and given he's elven, well, your guess to his age is likely better than mine. He and his partner apparently made a fairly good name for themselves – and what most people would consider a decent living, as well. Gilded cage and all that," Anders said, then frowned. He looked down at Ashes, and scratched his chin for a moment.

"And then he fell in love," Anders continued, quietly. "with another Crow, an elf like himself. Rinna, her name was. And she was killed, before his eyes, by his partner, something to do with treachery, though I'm not sure if it was her treachery or the partner's or someone else's. I'm not sure of the full story of that part, I didn't actually hear it from him, but from Oghren one night when we were both in our cups and Oghren was explaining to me how Zevran ended up as one of the Blight Companions. Anyway, after Rinna's death he wanted to die. He ended up taking a contract in Ferelden to kill Alistair and Soria; it was considered suicidal, Grey Wardens being as talented at survival as they are."

Fenris nodded slowly. "In Tevinter, the common wisdom is that you want to have at least five to ten men for every Warden you need killed, and to be prepared to lose most of them."

Anders shot Fenris a small smile. "That sounds like about the right odds, yes. Zevran did take along some help for his ambush, but it was all local small talent, thugs and bravos. He _wanted_ his ambush to fail, for someone to kill him. And then Soria spared his life, and he swore himself into her service. I think he was still hoping to die at that point, and thought joining her and Alistair on their rather mad quest would accomplish it sooner or later."

"But he lived."

"Yes, they all did. Soria seemed to have a knack for acquiring supremely talented help; people as talented at keeping alive while their enemies die as the Grey Wardens themselves are. She didn't lose a single companion, not to death or injury or the taint, in the entire crazy adventure. And killed the Archdemon and ended the blight. Did you hear much of that when it happened?"

"Only a little," Fenris admitted. "The blight started while I was living among the fog warriors in Seheron. It wasn't until I escaped to Kirkwall after Danarius... retrieved me, that I heard any real news of the Blight. And then it ended."

"Did you hear that Soria fought her way across all of Denerim with just three people, to reach and kill the Archdemon? Through an entire darkspawn army?"

"Yes. One later became the King of Ferelden, didn't he?"

"Correct. Alistair Theirin, bastard son of King Maric, and a Grey Warden as well. The other two were a dwarf – Oghren, who I've already mentioned – and Zevran."

Fenris nodded slowly. "He is a very talented fighter then."

"Yes. One of the best assassins in the world, perhaps – he's certainly the only person to leave the Crows and remain alive for more than a very short time afterwards; they keep trying to kill him and failing. Usually very messily. Though don't ever let him hear that I've said that he's that good, his head is big enough as it is," Anders said with a slight smile. "He is also a very talented lover, with quite wide-ranging tastes. Am I right in thinking he's, ahh... made advances to you already?"

Fenris flushed and looked away. "Yes. Yesterday he told me I was... handsome. He keeps showing up around me, and is very..." he trailed off, and frowned, not sure what word to use.

"Flirtatious?" Anders asked.

"Yes. Is he always like this?" Fenris asked, almost plaintively.

Anders smiled again. "Yes. I think he flirts the way other people breathe. By reflex. But he is also very... honourable, in his flirtations. If it bothers you, and you ask him to stop, he will. And not be the least put out about it, either. He does not press his attentions on those who don't want them," Anders explained, then smiled again. "I think he gets told 'no' very rarely, however. He's quite accomplished at seduction."

Fenris reddened again. "Did you and he...?"

"No," Anders said, and smiled in fond reminiscence for a moment. "No, I was going through a phase of preferring the company of women when I was in Amaranthine – I was almost as notorious at being a womanizer at the time as Zevran was notorious at seducing both sexes. I will admit I was tempted, a time or two, but then he went off on a long trip with Soria, and... well, I merged with Justice and left."

Fenris nodded slowly. "He confuses me," he admitted. "I am... unsure what to do. I enjoy his company, when we're just talking, but..."

He paused, and looked away for a long minute, then spoke again, very quietly, feeling his cheeks flush again. "I don't know what to do," he repeated.

Anders was silent for a long moment. "Talk to him," he finally said, softly. "Zevran is very good at listening to other people. If you just want to be his friend, nothing more, you can tell him that, and he will accept it – and he will not snub you just for turning him down. If you're curious enough about him to want more... he is very good at that, too, from everything I have ever heard. If you're not sure, tell him that, as well. He is very patient. He's... a complicated man. But he's also a good man, at heart."

Fenris nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said. "I will think on what you've said."

Anders smiled. "You're welcome. Now, why don't we return to our original plan, and have your next reading lesson?"


	71. Pleasant Contact

Fenris was unsurprised to find the assassin waiting for him in the stables when he returned from his ride. This was now the fourth day in a row where Zevran had made a point out of intercepting the warrior in the morning. What did surprise him was the pleased feeling it gave him when he spotted the blond elf leaning against the door of Ari's stall, deftly twirling a dagger in his free hand while the big grey stallion nosed curiously at his hair.

"Watch out, he may think your hair is straw," Fenris said with a slight smile as he led Aer down the aisle.

Zevran looked up and flashed Fenris a brief grin. The dagger vanished back into its sheath on his belt as he straightened. "He and I have already come to an agreement about my hair," the elf said with great seriousness. "He promises to only sniff at it, and I promise to feed him apples," he said, and made a gesture with his hand, producing a slightly storage-wrinkled apple as if out of thin air, holding it out to the horse on the palm on his hand. Ari dipped his head and lipped it up, crunching up the treat eagerly.

"And one for this dark beauty as well," Zevran said, producing a second and offering it to Aer as Fenris came to a halt in front of Aer's stall. The black gelding sniffed curiously at it, then lipped it up and ate it with just as much enjoyment as Ari had, bits of crushed apple drooling out of his mouth around the sides of his bit. Zevran grinned affably at Fenris. "How was your ride today? Muddy?" he asked, nodding toward the splatters all over Aer's legs and stomach.

"Yes. Between the rain the last two days, and the melting snow, it's a bit of a mess out right now," Fenris agreed, then changed Aer's bridle to a halter and fastening the gelding to a ring outside the stall. He stripped off the rest of the muddy tack, then fetched his grooming supplies and set to work to remove the mud from Aer's coat.

He felt very conscious of Zevran watching him work as he groomed the gelding. In the two days since his conversation with Anders about the other elf, he still hadn't been able to decipher how he felt about the attention the other man was paying him. He did enjoy Zevran's company; he was an interesting, intelligent conversationalist, friendly, and polite. It was the way he peppered his conversation with occasional flirtatious remarks or looks that made Fenris uneasy. He hadn't any idea how to react to them, and mainly they left him feeling... confused. Worried. Unsure about whether or not he liked it when Zevran made some appreciative comment about his skills or appearance. Sometimes the attention just made him feel self-conscious, and sometimes – rarely – he found himself feeling oddly pleased by it.

Maybe he should do as Anders had suggested, and talk honestly to Zevran about his confusion over the other elf's apparent interest in him. He glanced over at Zevran as he was untying Aer to lead him into his stall, and felt his cheeks flush slightly at the frankly appreciative look the other was giving him. He quickly looked away again, leading Aer into his stall and removing the halter, putting away it and the grooming supplies, then gathered up the mud-daubed tack to carry to the tack room. Zevran fell in step beside him as he started to walk away.

"So. I bumped into Guard-Captain Cerin on my walk this morning," Zevran said, casually. "He tells me the workmen have completed most of the changes I suggested for Anders' garden. Shall we go and take a look?"

Fenris glanced sideways at him, then nodded acceptance.

"Good! I am sure it will be cold in the garden, perhaps you can join me in my room afterwards for a hot drink? Mulled wine, perhaps. Or tea... I went on a walk in the upper market yesterday afternoon while you were at your lessons, and found a particularly good tea merchant. He had a few blends that I have not tasted since I was last in Antiva."

Fenris nodded agreement again, then handed in his horse's tack, and the two walked across the grounds to the walled garden. The sun was out, just a few white clouds dotting the sky, but there was a strong, chilly breeze that made him glad of the warmth of his heavy cloak. Apart from a few bare paved areas, or stretches of winter-killed ground cover, the ground tended to either be covered in dirty half-melted snow or sticky mud. Fenris grimaced at the feel of the cold mud squishing up between his toes. He still preferred bare feet, but on days like this he could understand the allure of boots.

He stopped to wipe his feet fastidiously clean on the snow in the shadow by the garden gatehouse, then knocked on the door. He and Zevran stopped inside to exchange a few words with the pair of guard on duty there, and to examine one of the first changes; the small watch-post on top of the tower was no longer manned. As Zevran had explained to Fenris and Sebastian, he'd been able to stand up there without setting the dogs to barking, because they were used to seeing strangers up there. He'd just had to wait for them to come near enough in the garden for him to hit them with darts from a small blowpipe in order to drug them, and then Anders' cottage had been essentially unprotected. Besides, in any sort of inclement weather, the watch-post had a poor view of the walls anyway, and it took away the privacy of the garden. Better to leave it unmanned.

So now the trapdoor in the ceiling was latched firmly shut from the inside – preventing it from being used to introduce a sleeping trap to the guardroom itself, as he and Nate had used it for – and a long wire had been run along the wall, threaded through a series of low pierced posts at the inside top edge of the wall, out of sight from outside the garden. Attempts to climb over the wall would almost certainly tug on or press the wire. It passed through the guardhouse, where bells hung on it would ring if it was disturbed.

The wire was not the only change that had been made, of course. Zevran had also suggested that sharp-edged pieces of broken glass, ceramic and jagged pieces of metal be set in a layer of mortar along the top of the wall, making it more difficult to scale. A tree standing too close to the inside of the wall had been removed from the garden, so its overhanging branches could not be used to bypass the wall.

They walked around the garden, Zevran pointing out a couple of other minor changes – metal grates to prevent things from being introduced into the cottage via the chimneys, a peep-hole added to the door so Anders could check outside it first before opening it, if he desired – then the two headed back out of the garden and around into the keep. They walked up to Zevran's rooms, the assassin keeping up a stream of inconsequential talk, mainly admiring the decor.

"So, shall it be wine or tea? Or something else entirely?" Zevran asked after they'd entered his rooms, giving Fenris a rather salacious look when he said 'something else'.

Fenris could feel his cheeks and ears flushing, and looked uncomfortably away. "Wine, please. Though not mulled, I have little liking for it heated."

Zevran laughed, then gave him a short bow. "As you wish. Red, or white?" he asked, walking over to a nearby sideboard, where an array of bottles stood waiting.

"Red, please." Fenris said. He took off his cloak and spread it over the back of a chair, took off his gauntlets as well, leaving them on a nearby end table, then took a seat in the chair – he'd carefully avoiding sitting on the couch again ever since that first, rather awkward visit – accepting a glass of wine from the assassin with a nod of thanks. Zevran curled up in a nearby chair, a full glass in his own hand, and looked speculatively at Fenris after taking a sip of his own glass.

"Am I right in thinking it is not just wine that you don't enjoy 'heated'?" Zevran asked softly.

Fenris gave him a startled glance, then looked away, and slowly nodded.

"I make you uncomfortable then," Zevran said, putting down his glass.

"Sometimes," Fenris agreed. He looked down at the glass in his own hands, running one fingertip lightly along the rim of it. "I am not offended by the things you do or say, just..."he broke off and frowned, not sure how to explain.

"Just you do not know how to respond to them? Or even _if_ you should respond?" Zevran asked, softly.

Fenris shot him another surprised look. "Yes." he admitted.

Zevran nodded slowly, then picked up his glass and sipped again. "Prince Vael was kind enough to tell me a little of your background, when I asked," he said, carefully looking away from Fenris. "I know you were a slave, for many years – you have told me as much yourself. But you have been free for some years now, have you not? Have you never in all that time taken a lover?" he asked curiously.

Fenris chewed on his lip, then took a deep gulp from his glass. "No. Never in my life."

Zevran looked over at him. "Yet you are familiar with sex, and what it involves."

"Yes," he answered voice low. "I was not given any choice. Danarius, as well as making use of me himself whenever he wished, he... loaned me out, when the mood took him, or he wanted the person asking to owe him a small favour," he explained bitterly. "And his apprentice, Hadriana... she _enjoyed_ tormenting me, seeing me subjected to..." he broke off, unable to continue, and forced his breathing to calm again, then took another gulp of his wine before continuing. "I have had no pleasant experience of sex. Even when my body was made to respond, it was never for my own pleasure, but just for the _amusement_ of someone else," he added darkly.

"Do you wish me to stop?" Zevran asked, very quietly.

Fenris stared down at his wine for a very long time, considering the question. "I do not know," he finally admitted, feeling distressed over the admission. "I have seen that others... enjoy... but I do not know if I can. I am not sure if I _want_ to. I do not like... being touched."

Zevran nodded slowly. "Is it that the touching hurts you? Sebastian said something your marks," – he gestured vaguely at Fenris' tattooed skin – "hurting sometimes, especially in the presence of magic. Or is it because of what has been done to you when you've been touched in the past?"

Fenris swallowed. "Both," he said, voice a bare whisper, then drank off the final mouthful of wine in his glass. He was trembling, he realized. He kept his eyes down, watching his empty glass and concentrating on even breathing, until it passed.

"Would you like some more wine?" Zevran asked, once he'd calmed himself. He nodded, and the other elf put aside his own half-full glass and picked up the bottle, stepping closer, stopping just beyond easy reach of him. Fenris held out his glass, keeping his eyes on it as Zevran filled it, only at the end daring to look up at him. He wasn't sure what expression he'd been expecting to see on Zevran's face, but... whatever it was, it wasn't there. The assassin's face was almost serene, but not... blank. There was no pity there, no distaste, no anger, only... acceptance, Fenris decided.

Anders was right. Zevran was very good at listening. He released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

Zevran turned away, put down the bottle, then turned back. "May _I_ touch you?" Zevran asked quietly.

Fenris stiffened for a moment, hand tightening on his glass, then looked away and nodded. He looked back after a while, when no touch had come, puzzled. Only then, once he was looking, did Zevran's hand slowly rise and reach out. Slow enough that Fenris could have easily avoided it, if he wanted to. He watched in fascination as the elf's hand moved closer, fingers just slightly curved, finally coming to rest on his wrist, where it rested on the arm of the chair between the two of them, the assassin's fingertips just barely in contact with the bare skin between the curving lines of his tattoos. Zevran's fingers were warm and dry, and much steadier then his own were at the moment.

"Does this hurt?" Zevran asked curiously.

"No," he answered in a low voice.

Zevran touched him a bit more firmly, then stroked his fingers up his forearm, keeping carefully between the lines of the tattoos. "And this?" he asked.

"It's... fine," Fenris said, watching his hand warily. "Bare skin is usually fine."

"May I touch one of the lines?" Zevran asked, voice as soft and gentle as his touch.

Fenris shivered for a moment, then nodded jerkily.

Zevran let his hand stroke back down to the wrist, then slowly curved under his two outer fingers and folded under his thumb, until just his first two fingers were still in contact with Fenris' skin. Fenris bit his lip, holding his breath again and tensing, as Zevran slowly curled the last two fingers, drawing back his hand, until they came in contact with one of tattoos.

For a moment nothing happened, then eerie blue luminescence sprang up, covering his hand and forearm, fading out toward the shoulder. Zevran started and muttered a brief curse, but kept his fingers where they were.

"Does it hurt?" he asked curiously, just the faintest hint of anxiety in his voice.

Fenris felt very calm all of a sudden, soothed by the other's obvious worry over his comfort with this... touching. "No," he answered, in his normal voice, and quickly raised his other hand to take a sip of his wine. "They usually do not hurt unless magic is involved or I am... agitated."

Zevran crouched down by the chair, looking closely at where his fingers were still touching the glowing line. "It feels... odd," he said pensively. "Cooler to the touch than I would have expected. And the lines are raised, are they not? More like a brand than a tattoo."

Fenris nodded. "They were very red and swollen for a long time after the lyrium was inked in. They burned, and _itched_... Danarius worked many spells on them before the skin healed. That was... not pleasant," he said softly. "Magic affects them oddly. Usually they just... ache. Sometimes a dull pain, sometimes a sharp one. Sometimes... very strong pain."

Zevran glanced up at him, his fingers still in contact with Fenris' skin. "And other sensations, I take it?"

Fenris shivered again, and nodded. "Heat, or cold. Or a tickling feeling. Or," he paused and blushed, "Arousal. Hadrianna liked taking advantage of that," he finished, darkly.

"Do you mind if I touch you some more? I would like to look at the lines of your hand," Zevran said.

"Go ahead," Fenris said dryly. He did not see any point in refusing now that the elf was already touching him.

Zevran rose to his feet and pulled a second chair closer, then sat down on the edge out it. He looked to see that Fenris was watching him first, then carefully reached out and took the warrior's hand in his. Fenris could not stop himself from tensing at the touch. The glow, which had faded away when Zevran had removed his fingers, returned again.

"Are the lines doing that themselves, or are you doing it?" Zevran asked interestedly, bending forward and looking closely at the lines swirling across the back of Fenris' fingers and hand

"A bit of both, I think," Fenris said. "I am not willing it to happen, as I sometimes do when I fight, but..." he paused, and blushed. "I think it is in part because I am _aware_ of your touch, not just that you are touching me, that is causing it."

"So if you were not aware of my touch, it might not happen?" Zevran asked, then flashed him a sudden grin. "Intriguing idea, though I suppose of little use other than as esoteric knowledge."

He continued examining Fenris' hand for some little time, looking at the pattern of the lines, running his fingers along them, massaging at the flesh of Fenris' hand with his fingers and thumb. It was surprisingly soothing, and Fenris gradually found himself relaxing again.

After a while Zevran settled back in his chair, retaining his loose hold on Fenris' hand. "As frank as we have both been being so far, let me be even more direct. I consider you very desirable, as you have no doubt guessed from my manner with you. Not just because you are very handsome, and have such exotic colouring and markings, which is of course what first caught my eye – well, that and the truly _terrifying_ sword sweeping rather too directly towards my neck – but also because I like you very much and I _like_ engaging in pleasant physical activities with people I like, as long as they are of a like mind."

He smiled warmly at Fenris, then continued. "I enjoy spending time with you, talking with you. I would like to be your friend. I would like to be _more_ than merely your friend, in time, if you will allow it. If you do not wish anything more from me than friendship and regular good conversation over good wine, then I will cease trying to be more, and merely be happy to have made a good friend. If you are willing to allow me to try to become more, than I would like to court you."

Fenris blinked, feeling more than a little confused. "Court me...?"

Zevran smiled. "Yes. Which means more long conversations together and walks together and time spent in each other's company. And more touching, whenever you will allow it, until you are willing to allow more than just simple touching. Or perhaps you have no interest in sleeping with another man? Perhaps you prefer women?"

Fenris shuddered at that, so strongly his wine almost slopped out of his glass. "Not women," he said hoarsely. "After Hadriana..." he paused, and just shook his head. "Not women," he said again vehemently.

Zevran nodded, and said nothing for a long while, just rubbed his thumb over the back of Fenris' hand soothingly until the warrior had regained his composure again.

"May I court you, then?" Zevran finally asked, very quietly. "It is not a commitment, you understand, it is just saying I may _try_ to capture your interest. If you change your mind at any time you can tell me to desist, and I will."

Fenris frowned in thought. He lifted his wine glass, surprised by how little he'd drunk since Zevran had refilled it, and took a good-sized swallow. He looked down at his hand, still held by the other elf, the assassin's thumb tracing slow circles across the back of it, and thought about how... _pleasant_ the contact felt.

"Yes," he finally whispered, seeing no good reason to refuse.

Zevran smiled warmly at him. "Thank you," he said, released Fenris' hand after a final light squeeze, rose to his feet and returned to his original chair. Zevran topped up his own glass and deftly changed the topic of their conversation, asking about Fenris' reading and writing lessons with Anders.

Fenris was relieved that the other elf had not continued to explore further this whole idea of _touching_ , and _courting_ , and was overall very relieved by the withdrawal and change in subject. He was feeling quite pleasantly relaxed again by the time they left the assassin's apartments to join Anders and Sebastian for lunch.


	72. House Warming

Anders was excited when he heard that he and his pets could finally return to the cottage. Excited enough that he impulsively invited the others to join him for a meal there once he was moved back in. Sebastian looked amused, Fenris surprised and then cautiously pleased, and Zevran just grinned.

"I think that is a fine idea," Zevran said, and looked at Sebastian. "Lunch or supper, do you think?"

Sebastian shrugged. "Either, I suppose, the meal will be supplied by the castle kitchens either way – Anders, do you have a preference yourself?"

Anders smiled almost shyly at the three of them. "Supper? That way we can sit and talk afterwards, if people want to..."

Fenris nodded. "That sounds pleasant. Tomorrow evening?"

"Yes," Anders said, looking pleased over their easy acceptance of the idea. "Do you think I should move back in this afternoon, or tomorrow?" he asked Sebastian.

Sebastian smiled at him. "Whichever you prefer. I can tell the servants to help move your things back whenever you're ready."

"Today then," he said firmly. "I've missed being there... little things, mainly, like fixing my own breakfast, and how easy it was to let the dogs in and out, and how quiet it is," he said wistfully. "And I should start cleaning up the garden for the spring now that it's thawing, finish what I started last year."

Sebastian nodded briskly. "I'll see to ordering it, then."

Anders smiled. "Thank you. Fenris, do you mind if we skip your lesson today...?"

"Not at all," the warrior gravely said. "I think I'll take the opportunity to go for a walk, perhaps visit the market."

Anders finished eating and excused himself as soon as he could, to go and start packing up his things. Zevran left with him.

Fenris looked curiously at Sebastian after they had left. "Anders seems to have improved dramatically in morale the last few days," he said quietly.

Sebastian smiled. "Aye. We have... come to an understanding, he and I," he said, then frowned. "I did not tell you at the time, since you were away when it happened and things were rather... fraught... afterwards, but shortly before his abduction, Anders and I..." he broke off, and blushed. "Well. We got drunk one evening, talking, and ended up... kissing," he said, then looked down at his plate before continuing softly. "I had not realized, before then, just how much he was interested in me. Or in what way."

Fenris nodded slowly. "I take it things did not go well?"

"No, they didn't," Sebastian agreed quietly. "I fear I was brusker than I should have been, in refusing him. And then I wasn't sure how to handle seeing him alone, so we did not see each other again until after he was abducted." he paused, and toyed with his wine glass for a moment.

"It was only when he was taken away that I came to realize how much he has come to mean to me. Not just as a friend. I... care for him," he finally continued, speaking very softly, almost hesitantly, then looked up. "I admitted that to him a few days ago. He knows I might not ever be able to be anything more than a friend to him, but that seems to have been enough to make him... very happy."

A slight smile twisted the corner of Fenris' lips. "A friendship can be a very important thing, even if it leads to nothing else," he said, and looked away. "Back in Kirkwall... of all Hawke's group, I think you were the only one that was a true friend to me at the time. Hawke was friendly, and a good companion, and helped me more than once when I needed it, but... but I am unsure if I would have called him a _friend_."

Sebastian smiled warmly at Fenris. "I feel much the same way, I must admit... I know many of Hawke's circle of friends only tolerated me because he happened to want me along on some of his adventures, but you... well, you were the only one I spent any time with away from Hawke's influence," he finished softly. "I think I would have been a far lonelier man without your friendship. I value it greatly."

Fenris looked pleased at this admission, and shyly nodded his agreement with the sentiment. "Well," he said. "I think I will take that walk I mentioned. Perhaps buy a small gift for Anders, to celebrate his return to the cottage. A bottle of wine, or something for the cottage, perhaps."

Sebastian nodded. "That is a good idea. I should do the same. I have some time free this afternoon – why don't we go to the market together?"

Fenris smiled warmly at him. "I would enjoy that," he said.

* * *

Anders lay in bed, smiling in contentment. _His_ bed, in his cottage. Which was his prison, yes, but also his sanctuary, and one he'd chosen for himself. He sighed and rolled over, then grinned as Haelioni immediately raised her head and looked at him expectantly.

"You want out," he said.

She whined quietly, then rose to her feet. Ganwyn, up on the bed with Anders and Ashes, wagged his tail several times, thumping it loudly against the bedding, and wiggled around to rest his chin against Anders' hip, giving the mage a soulful look.

Anders laughed, and rose to his feet, smiling as he padded barefoot to the front door, the dogs and cat milling around his feet, to let them out in the garden. He stood in the door for a moment, breathing in great lungfuls of the cold spring air, before closing it and turning away to put on the water for his breakfast tea.

It was good to be back here.

The day passed easily, starting with a quick jaunt into the keep to help Zevran bathe and dress again. There were a couple of interesting but otherwise minor cases to deal with in the clinic. He left early enough to see Fenris returning from his morning ride, both of them waving a hand in passing as Fenris rode Ari past the garden gatehouse on his way back to the stable.

He spent some of the time until lunch wandering the muddy garden with the dogs, deciding what needed to be done; he'd made a good start on cleaning up the paths and around the small pond and the cottage itself in the fall, but there was still a lot of work that needed doing. Including clearing an area for a proper garden where he could grow some herbs – both medicinal and for seasoning – and perhaps some fresh vegetables, just because he _could_.

Lost in plans for the garden, he was almost late for the meal, arriving at table once the other three were already seated and had served themselves. All three seemed in good moods, he noticed, Sebastian smiling warmly at him across the table as he enquired how Anders' first day back in the cottage was going so far. Zevran seemed quite cheerful about something, and the corner of Fenris' mouth kept twitching upwards in a very small smile. They had a very pleasant lunch together, after which Anders hurried back down to his cottage to start preparing for dinner that evening.

He did some cleaning – he and the dogs had all tracked in mud from the garden that morning, and the cottage had been uninhabited for long enough for dust to accumulate, the worst of which had been cleaned up the day before while his things were being moved back in. But he wandered around with a clean soft cloth, making sure everything was spotless, swept the floor clean, and left the door propped open for a while to air out the cottage. Then he laid fires ready in the main room and the upstairs study, and took a good hot bath, washing and shaving before dressing as nicely as he could from his limited choices.

Anders was pleased to find that whomever had been given the assignment of putting together the meal for his cottage had put some thought into it – when a group of servants showed up to deliver the meal, in wasn't the same sort of thing that they served in the Prince's suite. Instead of a variety of small hot or cold dishes in separate lidded serving containers, two of them carried in a large pot to hang over his fire, filled with a hearty stew of beef, barley, herbs and root vegetables. There was also crusty loaves of fresh-baked bread, a crock of butter, a smaller one of honey, an assortment of cheeses, and a wide variety of preserved vegetables and fruits, far more than would be needed for the one meal. It was a princely interpretation of good peasant fare.

They also brought in a sizable crate, stuffed with straw, with a number of bottles of wine in it; the Prince's orders, they gave him to understand, and found space to store them all inside the sideboard before carting off the crate again. They brought proper wine glasses as well, his cottage being rather lacking in them. The stew had soon warmed to the simmer again, the array of jars of preserves lined up nicely on the sideboard, along with the bread and a tray of the cheese, and a several bottles of wine that he'd been told had been picked to go along with the stew. The table was beautifully set – again, with dishes and flatware the servants had brought with them, heavy earthenware in a deep blue glaze, the cutlery of good well-polished pewter, all on a crisp white tablecloth of plain heavy linen with matching linen napkins. A few early crocus in a small glass vase stood in the centre, flanked by pale beeswax tapers, with fat pillar candles arrayed on the sideboard, all ready to light once it got darker out. The room was full of good sights and good smells. He thanked the servants all profusely as they left again, earning smiles and nods from them in turn.

It wasn't long until he heard Ganwyn give a bark of greeting, and his guests appeared, coming not down the hidden staircase as he'd expected, but through the garden. Somehow that made their entrance to his little home even more special, that they'd taken the extra effort to come in openly by his front door. He was flushed with pleasure as he greeted them all, and saw them to the table.

Sebastian looked around approvingly at the room and the food. "This looks excellent," he said.

Anders grinned. "I wish I could claim responsibility for any of it, but apart from me doing a little cleaning and getting in the way a lot, this is all the work of the castle servants."

Fenris smiled, and Zevran laughed, as did Sebastian.

"Do you like the tableware?" Sebastian asked curiously.

"It's beautiful," Anders said. "Such a rich blue..."

"Good," Sebastian said, and grinned again. "The plates and bowls and wine glasses are all a gift from me to you, so that you might entertain friends in proper style here whenever you wish. And the servants have orders to keep you well-stocked with wine, so that you have something to entertain with."

Fenris spoke up then. "The tablecloth, napkins and cutlery are from me," he said gravely.

Zevran laughed. "I am glad I thought to bring something as well," he said, and rose to go over to where they'd left their cloaks, producing a sizable tin from a poacher's pocket in his. "Tea," he explained, handing it to Anders with a flourish. "I remember you favoured this particular blend, back in Amaranthine, so I bought some yesterday when I saw it at a local merchant's shop.

Anders looked overwhelmed by their generosity, and quickly pried off the lid of the tin to take an appreciative sniff of its contents, the sharp citrus scent of bergamot wafting from it. "Thank you all very much," he said. "I... don't know what to say..."

"How about _let's eat?_ " Zevran suggested, and smacked his lips, earning a laugh from the other three.

"Yes, let's eat," Anders agreed, grinning.

It was rather chaotic for a few minutes, as they milled around serving each other. Sebastian carried bowls to the fire to fill them with stew, Fenris sliced the bread and handed it around, while Anders opened various jars of pickles and other condiments and put them on the table. Zevran was frowning at first because there was little he could do one-handed, then Fenris handed him an open wine bottle. He nodded his head in appreciation, and saw that everyone's glass was filled.

It was a very enjoyable meal, their conversation focusing mainly on inconsequential things – the cottage, Anders' plans for the garden, how long it might be until it was warm enough for things like planting.

"The weather changes fast here, as you've seen," Sebastian said. "It should be warm enough to begin planting in two, perhaps three weeks."

"There'll be another festival then, right?" Anders asked curiously.

Sebastian grinned. "Yes. And assuming nothing else is keeping us busy at the time, I'll want to travel out to my estate for it, as we did in the fall. I invite all three of you to come along – it is very enjoyable."

Zevran grinned broadly. "I have attended a Starkhaven planting festival many years ago; it is indeed an enjoyable event. I will most happily accept your invitation."

Once they had all eaten enough, they saw things put away – the stew pulled off the fire, the bread and cheese wrapped in clean cloths, the jars re-sealed – and retired upstairs to Anders' study with several more bottles of wine and their glasses, taking seats around the room. Anders and Sebastian sat down in paired armchairs to either side of a low table, the wine between them, while Fenris sat where he normally did on the long couch. The dogs had followed them upstairs, and Ganwyn promptly jumped up and stretched out beside him as he usually did. Zevran, who had been moving to sit there, paused and frowned down at the dog.

Fenris looked up at him, then smiled very faintly and shifted towards the dog, opening up space on the other side of him. Zevran grinned, and sat down beside him, keeping a careful space between them.

They talked a while longer, enjoying the wine and the company. Anders and Fenris talked for a while, explaining to Zevran some of their ideas about making mages more accepted by the general populace, while Sebastian sat back and listened.

Zevran nodded agreement. "It is a very good idea, this making mages seem less frightening to people. During the year of the Blight, Soria's companions included two mages – one an apostate, the other a healer from the Circle of Ferelden."

"Wynne," Anders agreed, nodding. "She was one of my teachers. I don't think she thought much of me."

Zevran nodded. "An opinionated woman. But brave, and she did much good during our travels. Yet for all her good works, she was still not trusted to be out in the world afterwards, and had to return to the circle. She travelled to Cumberland some time later, for a conclave of mages who were pushing for independence – she went as a voice of reason, I am told. I am sure you know how that ended," Zevran said darkly.

"The Cumberland Massacre," Anders said softly. "Yes. I was with Soria when she encountered Wynne in Amaranthine, just before Wynne took ship for Cumberland. I told her then that what some of the mages were pushing for was a recipe for disaster. I was... angered, when I later heard just how right I'd been."

"I think I heard something about that at the time," Sebastian said softly. "The mages at the conference were all killed, were they not?"

"Yes," Anders said quietly. "It was claimed that a group of them proved to be maleficarum and used blood magic to try and take over the conference, and the templars killed them all since they had no way of telling which were maleficarum, which were thralls, and which were innocents, but... I have never heard anything to actually substantiate that claim. Of course, the only survivors were the templars themselves," he finished bitterly. "There have been no mage conferences since, the argument being that the Cumberland one proved how dangerous it was to allow mages to congregate in any numbers outside their circles."

"Soria was devastated when she heard," Zevran said quietly. "She and Wynne had not always seen eye-to-eye, but she respected the old woman, and liked her."

"Well. Wynne was never one to want to die peacefully in bed," Anders said. "Look at how quickly she talked Greagoir into letting her gallivant all over creation, at her age!"

Zevran smiled toothily. "This is true. I could wish she'd met her end in a more fitting manner – she was a magnificent woman, in more ways than one. But you are right, she would rather have died fighting the good fight, than in bed of old age and helplessness."

He raised his glass in a silent toast to her. Anders and the others drank as well.

"Well," Zevran said quietly, "I have enjoyed this evening very much, but I should head back to my own rooms now. Thank you for the dinner, and the conversation, and the great quantity of wine," he added, before rising to his feet.

Fenris quickly rose as well. "I'll walk back with you," he offered.

Zevran smiled warmly at him, and nodded. Fenris said his farewells and thanks as well, then the two elves left.

Sebastian smiled warmly at Anders. "I suppose I should go as well," he said softly. "It has been a most pleasant evening."

Anders nodded, and the two rose, gathering up empty bottles and glasses to carry back downstairs. They put the glasses down on the counter, then Sebastian picked up his cloak.

"Well. Good-night, Sebastian," Anders said. "Thank you again for the gifts. And... for everything else."

Sebastian nodded. He looked away for a long moment, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I enjoyed it very much," he said as he put on his cloak. "I hope... we have more such evenings." He glanced at Anders, before reaching out and taking his hand for a moment, squeezing it lightly. "Sleep well," he said, voice husky, then leaned forward and quickly kissed Anders on the cheek before turning and hurrying out of the cottage.

Anders was smiling as he closed the door behind him.


	73. Not Unpleasant

"So... would you like to drop by my room for a nightcap before you retire for the evening?" Zevran asked casually as he and Fenris circled around through the castle grounds to re-enter the keep.

Fenris glanced at the assassin, then slowly nodded. He'd been very aware of the other elf all evening, of the heat of his body so close to his own as they'd shared the couch together. "I would enjoy that," he said softly.

Zevran grinned widely. "Good," he said, then turned the subject to a discussion of the meal they'd enjoyed that evening.

When they reached his rooms, he got out and poured wine for both of them, then the two sat down together again. Though this time, instead of maintaining a distance between them, Zevran sat so that his leg was touching Fenris'. Fenris glanced uneasily down, but left his own leg where it was rather than moving away.

The assassin had touched him a lot earlier that day, too, when they'd had what was becoming their usual conversation in between Fenris' morning ride and their lunch with Sebastian and Anders. He'd asked, beforehand, as he'd done the day before, and spent some time looking at the lines on Fenris' arm and hand again, and curiously examining and handling his vambraces.

This was the first time they'd come in contact without the elf asking permission first, which made Fenris feel a little nervous. But then, he was not touching bare skin, as he had earlier, nor with his hand. And the slight pressure and heat of his leg was almost pleasant, Fenris decided, and gradually relaxed again.

"May I touch you again?" Zevran asked, softly, as if divining his thoughts.

Fenris glanced uneasily at him. "Why?" he asked.

Zevran shrugged. "It is one way to deal with something that someone does not like, or fears. You show them that there is nothing to fear, that it can even be nice, through repeated careful exposure to it. Does it bother you when I touch you?"

"A little."

"Because it makes you uncomfortable, or because you don't like it, or because of some other reason?"

Fenris frowned in thought. "Mainly because it makes me uncomfortable. Though the touching itself is... not unpleasant."

Zevran smiled. "If it's not unpleasant, does that means it's sometimes pleasant?"

Fenris thought briefly. "Yes," he agreed cautiously. "Sometimes."

"Then, is it all right with you if I touch you occasionally?" Zevran asked, very softly.

"All right," Fenris agreed after further thought. It _did_ make him uneasy to let someone come so close to him, to handle him, but Zevran had been very gentle and polite so far in his attentions.

As he was now; again waiting to make sure that Fenris saw the movement of his hand before reaching toward him, and that he had plenty of time to avoid it if he wished. He rested his hand on Fenris' thigh this time, loosely, and just left it there while they talked. Later, when he got up to get the wine bottle to refill their glasses, he let his hand brush up Fenris' arm to his shoulder, and rest on it for a moment, before moving away. When he sat down again, his leg was no longer touching Fenris', and the warrior was surprised to realize he actually missed the contact. It had been... comforting, in some way.

All too soon, it seemed, they'd finished the bottle.

"I should retire for the night," Fenris said gravely.

Zevran smiled warmly at him. "Thank you for the pleasant company. Perhaps we can do this again some time?" he suggested as he rose to his feet. "I'm afraid my evenings here tend to be rather quieter than I am used to; I would appreciate the company, whenever you are not otherwise busy. If you're willing, of course?"

Fenris nodded. "I suppose. I have little to do most evenings myself," he admitted.

Zevran grinned happily at him. "Excellent! I shall look forward to it," he said, and followed him over to the door. He watched Fenris resume his cloak, then stepped closer. "May I touch your face?" he asked softly.

Fenris looked at him for a moment, swallowing nervously, then slowly nodded.

Again the slow approach of the hand. He'd thought the elf was going to touch the markings on his throat and chin, but instead Zevran's hand came to rest against his cheek, gently cupping the side of his face, his thumb stroking lightly along Fenris' cheekbone while the assassin looked curiously up at the taller elf. "May I kiss you?" he asked after a moment.

Fenris shivered. He'd been kissed before, but it was not anything he had any pleasant memories of. Before he could speak, a melancholy expression flitted across Zevran's face.

"No," the assassin said decisively, then shrugged slightly. "Perhaps another time." His thumb brushed lightly against Fenris' lips, and then his hand was gone, the elf stepping back away from Fenris again. "Good night," Zevran said softly.

Fenris nodded, feeling at a bit of a loss. "Good night," he said as well, and turned and left.

He was feeling confused by his own reactions by the time he reached his own room. Relieved that the other elf had answered his own question, yes, but also... maybe, just the littlest bit disappointed. As he changed into his nightclothes he found himself thinking of how gently Zevran had touched his cheek, how lightly his thumb had caressed Fenris' lips. His kiss, Fenris thought, would likely have been equally gentle.

He couldn't imagine a gentle kiss. Not how it would feel like, anyway, though he'd _seen_ them once or twice – Hawke kissing Anders before the apostate left the Hanged Man one evening, Isabela comforting Merrill after the death of her friend Pol. But he'd never been kissed softly himself, at least not that he could ever remember. Kisses, like the sex that had usually accompanied them, had been forced on him, and usually just as brutally applied. He shivered, remembering a hand clutching with bruising force at his chin, forcing his mouth open, a tongue invading his mouth hungrily.

No, he would not remember those times, not at the end of such a pleasant day. He made himself think about other things for a while instead, while he folded his clothing and put it neatly aside, and checked to see that his sword was still where he'd left it before going down to the cottage, his armour sets still hanging neatly on their stands.

He finally crawled into bed, curling up tightly under the heavy sheets, thinking again about Zevran and his gentle touches. After a while his hand crept up, and he brushed his fingertips lightly, thoughtfully, against his own lips.

Maybe some time he'd find out what a real kiss was like.


	74. Friendship and Trust

Sebastian smiled to see Anders out in his garden, working on clearing away some of the winter-killed vegetation. His smile broadened when he saw the mage was not alone; Fenris was out there as well, and Zevran, the assassin sitting and watching from a bench as the other two worked around the pond. Haelioni was sitting attentively by Zevran, and he was scratching her ears. Sebastian wondered for a moment where Ganwyn was, then spotted him exploring in the heavy bushes off to one side, tail wagging vigorously as he nosed around, sniffing interestedly at anything that caught his interest.

He glanced back at Zevran and saw the elf's head was lifted to look his direction. He froze, almost moving back from the window, then the assassin smiled slightly and looked away again. He flushed, feeling as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. He supposed it _was_ a little odd, him being the only one with a view overlooking the garden. He should have realized that the assassin, of anyone, would likely pick out that detail very quickly. Still, it wasn't like he'd made any secret of the fact that he had such a view – Anders had even stayed in this room himself and might well have noticed the view from the window while he was here. It was just... well, he'd never made a _point_ of letting Anders know that he could be seen by anyone outside of his walls.

Perhaps not entirely honourable, but he'd certainly had no ill intent. It had been an additional reassurance to him, when he'd still been uncertain of the mage's intentions. Now it was just... a pleasant habit, that he'd been pleased to resume. Though he supposed it would be the polite thing to let Anders know that he _could_ be seen.

And he smiled, thinking of just the way to do so, and went back to his wardrobe to change into a simpler outfit, one that it would be okay to get muddy.

"Good morning!" he called out a short time later, emerging from the cottage to join the others in the garden. Fenris and Anders turned away from what they were doing to look his way, Anders smiling in welcome and Fenris nodding his head, Zevran grinning in quiet amusement to see him. "I looked out my window and saw you all hard at work out here, and as I have nothing that needs doing sooner than this afternoon, I thought I might join you," he said, smiling at them.

He noticed Anders' smile falter for just a moment, his eyes flick above Sebastian's head, seeing that there was, indeed, the one small window high up on the keep overlooking his garden. Then his eyes returned to Sebastian, and his smile broadened again. "I'd be happy of your help," he said. "We're trying to clear away the last of the overgrowth around the pond, and the mess that's _in_ the pond, so I can try and replant it nicely.

Sebastian nodded, and joined them in thinning out the branches of a particularly overgrown willow on its bank while they discussed how best to remove the large quantities of rotting vegetation in the pond.

Zevran eventually rose to his feet and walked over. "I cannot stand to remain sitting without helping any longer," he said. "I may have only one hand, and cannot do any stoop work, but surely there is _something_ I can help with?"

Anders handed him the pruning shears he'd been using to thin out the withies, and went to get himself a rake, to use to drag some of the mess out of the pond with. Fenris decided the wheelbarrow was full enough to need dumping, and pushed it over to the spot in one corner that had been designated for a compost heap. He dumped the branches out to one side, as Anders was hoping to use them to put together some sort of wattle-like screen to hide the actual compost pile.

Zevran glanced at Sebastian. "That was smoothly done," he said quietly.

Sebastian gave him a crooked smile, and shrugged. "I thought it past time he knew he didn't have complete privacy within this garden. I... value his trust, now that I seem to have earned it," he said very softly.

Zevran nodded. "Trust is a precious thing," he agreed, and looked over to where Fenris was sorting the branches into two piles, one for the larger branches and the other for the withies. "And sometimes it can take a long time to earn. But it is always worth having."

Sebastian glanced over at Fenris as well. "Seeing as you still have your heart in your chest, I assume you are managing to not offend Fenris."

Zevran grinned widely. "That is so. He is a very interesting person, your Fenris."

"Not _my_ Fenris," Sebastian corrected. "He is his own man."

"Just so, and an endearingly complex one. I am quite impressed by the breadth of his education, especially when he is only now learning to read."

Sebastian nodded in agreement. "It surprised me too, at first. He has a very excellent memory, however – most of what he knows he has learned from hearing it spoken of, by the magisters or others. I am looking forward to seeing what he is interested in learning more of once his reading skills are more developed."

Zevran nodded thoughtfully. "A good memory is a good skill to have. It is encouraged in the Crows, as well, especially since a poor memory for details can easily kill you."

Anders returned and tried out the rake to dredging the pond. It could be used to drag out some of the larger materials in the pond, but he quickly found he had to be careful to only hook up a small amount of stuff at a time – the water-logged rotting vegetation was heavy. And _smelly_ , whenever he stirred up the sulphury lower layers.

Fenris made a face at the smell as he return with the wheelbarrow. "I suspect that the pond may need to be drained and dug out before it will support wildlife again. Plants might be able to grow in that muck, but I doubt things like fish would tolerate it."

"Do you want fish in the pond, Anders?" Sebastian asked interestedly.

"Maybe. I don't think it's a proper pond unless it has _something_ alive in it. A frog or a turtle at least, or some nice colourful fish."

"Even minnows can be nice," Zevran agreed, moving over to peer into the silty waters. "I fear Fenris is likely correct though, and this will need drainage and re-digging to properly clean it. It has been neglected for too many years; I am surprised it has not silted in entirely."

Anders frowned. "I wouldn't have any idea about how to do that," he admitted.

"I suppose I can hire people in to take care of it," Sebastian suggested. "It can be done while we're away for the planting festival, so we don't have to endure the smell ourselves."

"A wise idea," Fenris agreed, and took the rake away from Anders, using it to transfer the mess he'd dragged out of the pond already into the wheel-barrow, then handed it back to him and pushed the barrow away again to get rid of the odoriferous mass.

"Well, I suppose I should find something else to work on for now then," Anders sighed, and went off to poke through his available tools again.

He and Fenris decided to start clearing the area for the proposed vegetable garden, as well as flower beds along the front of the cottage. They all worked hard until it was getting close to time for lunch, stopping early enough that those who needed to – everyone but Zevran – could have time to change into clean clothes before the meal.

Lunch was spent discussing what plants Anders wanted to grow in his vegetable garden. Sebastian felt a little disappointed that he had a meeting for later that afternoon and couldn't return to work on the garden further with them; it had been an interesting break from his usual sedentary activities of late.

Even if he was pretty sure that he going to be sore from all the hard work later; it had been worth it, to see Anders smiling as the four of them worked together.

* * *

"Me for a good hot bath now that we've finished for the day," Anders sighed, and smiled at the two elves. "Thank you for all your help today – we got a lot more done than I'd expected."

Zevran smiled warmly at him. "It was an interesting change of pace, and a nice day for it. Not something I'd necessarily want to do every day, of course, but fun in small doses."

Fenris nodded agreement. "Yes. I would be happy to help again occasionally."

"I would certainly appreciate it," Anders said. "Well, good-bye – see the both of you tomorrow at lunch, if not earlier," he said, lifted his hand in farewell, and returned to his cottage, whistling for the dogs as he went.

They waved as well, and headed back to the keep. "So. Do you have plans this evening, my friend?" Zevran asked Fenris hopefully.

Fenris shook his head. "No, nothing tonight. Sebastian is attending a party being given by one of his nobles tonight."

"Ahh, in that case would you be interested in joining me for dinner and conversation instead?"

Fenris glanced sideways at him, then smiled shyly. "Yes, that would be pleasant," he agreed. "Though like the mage I would like to go and bathe first."

Zevran nodded. "Of course. I am lucky that my own exertions today were considerably lighter than yours, or I too would be wishing for a thorough bath at the moment, and lamenting this dratted bandaging yet again."

Fenris glanced at him again. "How long until the bandages come off?" he asked curiously.

Zevran made a face. "Soon, Anders tells me, though every time he checks he says not yet. I think his and my definitions of 'soon' may not be in accordance with each other."

Fenris smiled in amusement. "Well. I will be back shortly, once I have bathed and changed."

"I will be waiting," Zevran assured him, smiling.

Once Fenris had left he hurried to his rooms and summoned a servant. He ordered the meal carefully, then went to change his clothes, a task he'd become increasingly adept at performing one-handed over the long weeks of his recovery. He couldn't bathe properly, but he was at least able to sponge himself off with a soapy cloth to make sure he smelled of good clean soap instead of sweat before dressing again.

Fenris arrived in a remarkably short time; clearly the warrior had taken an efficient bath, not a luxurious one as Zevran himself would have done, given the opportunity. His hair was still damp, and he was wearing nice indoor clothes instead of his armour for once; dark charcoal grey leggings, low black leather boots, and a shirt of pale grey with decorative silver embroidery around the neck and cuffs.

Zevran smiled approvingly at him. "You know, I think this is only the second time I have seen you in regular clothes instead of armour," he said.

Fenris flushed a little. "I am used to wearing my armour during the day, but when I have dinner with Sebastian I dress for it. He insisted on buying me several suitable outfits – he said it made him feel sore, seeing me in my armour all the time."

Zevran laughed. "He is a generous friend," he said.

"Yes," Fenris agreed.

Zevran moved closer, and slowly reached out, placing his hand under Fenris' wrist and lifting it so he could examine the embroidery. "Lovely work. I must see if Sebastian can recommend his tailor for me, once I can actually stand for fittings. I left Vigil's Keep with little in the way of fancy clothing, and I am rather lamentably vain," he said with a wide smile. "But come, let us sit and talk while we wait for the meal to be delivered," he added, gesturing toward the seating available, caressing the back of Fenris' hand with his thumb before releasing it.

Fenris flushed slightly, but said nothing. He walked over to the seating area, and sat down on the couch. Zevran promptly joined him, sitting close to but not right beside him.

"You seem to know a little about gardening," Zevran said, looking enquiringly at Fenris.

The warrior nodded. "It was one of the things I did, when not actively body-guarding Danarius, or otherwise busy. He did not believe in slaves sitting around unoccupied; I did not do much planting or weeding, but I dug over a lot of garden beds, and carried water, anything that needed little skill or knowledge."

Zevran nodded. "I have a passing familiarity with gardening myself. It is surprising how many people will fail to see someone just because they are involved in a menial chore. A useful way to spy on someone, when necessary, or get closer for more nefarious purposes."

"You speak of killing."

"Yes. I _am_ an assassin after all, even if technically no longer a Crow."

Fenris looked at him curiously. "Do you enjoy killing?"

"Sometimes, yes," Zevran agreed with a smile. "There is a feeling of such _power_ , in that moment before you kill someone. It was quite addictive when I was younger."

"But no longer?"

"No. Not any longer. I lost the taste for it many years ago. I still enjoy fighting, and have little hesitation about killing – I am good at it, after all. But these days I prefer to fight and kill because it is something that _needs_ doing rather than merely because it is something I have been ordered or paid to do."

Fenris nodded slowly. "I can understand that. It is like the difference between fighting and killing for Danarius, when I had no choice, and fighting or killing alongside Hawke, where I had a choice and there was usually a reason behind the killing. Even if it often was nothing more important than that we'd be well-paid for doing it," he said ruefully, smiling slightly. "And now, with Sebastian – I have had to do very little fighting since rejoining him, but it has all been, as you would say, something that _needed_ doing. It is... more satisfying."

"Yes," Zevran agreed.

There was a knock at the door. Zevran stiffened. "That should be our dinner," he said, and rose to go answer it, only relaxing slightly when he saw only the one expected servant, carrying a large covered tray in both hands, a dusty bottle tucked under one arm. Zevran quickly relieved him of the bottle, putting it down while the man set down the tray. He thanked him, and tipped him before seeing him out, only relaxing again after cautiously removing the lid from the tray to reveal a stack of thin flexible flatbreads, and several thick-walled ceramic dishes of different stewed foods.

"Come, let us eat," he invited Fenris.

The warrior nodded and joined him at the table, putting a piece of flatbread on his plate before peering curiously at the array of dishes. "I recognize the chick-pea stew, and this is, hmm.. shredded mutton? But I've not seen the other two dishes before," he said, and started spooning some of the chick peas onto his bread, before deftly rolling it up and eating it.

"This dish is ground beef and beans cooked with tomatoes and hot peppers. And this bright yellow concoction is a rather spicy fish-based stew. In Antiva it would be made from sea-fish but here it is probably some sort of river fish. And it looks like they've put potatoes in it, as well."

Fenris made a face. "I will pass on the fish," he said, and stuck to trying the other three stews in turn. Zevran had a little trouble managing to make the rolls one-handed, but did well enough at it not to need any help. And his mistakes led to smiles and laughter, and much licking of fingers.

They ate largely in silence until the edge had been taken off their hunger, then slowed down, discussing the different stews, agreeing in the end that the chick pea stew was the best of the four, the mutton being nicely seasoned but rather stringy, and the beef and bean dish too bland, the hot peppers that were supposed to be in it having been omitted entirely. They still made great inroads on all of the dishes except the fish, which only Zevran ate any of, and pronounced palatable but not as good as it would have been in Antiva.

Zevran rang for the servant to come remove the tray, and only once he'd been and gone again did the elf finally picked up the dusty bottle the man had brought earlier. "Some brandy for our dessert," he said, smiling invitingly at Fenris. "Not Antivan brandy, sadly, but a reasonably good vintage of a local brandy. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the seating area with the bottle.

Fenris nodded, and carried over a pair of glasses for them. They sat down together on the couch again, Zevran right beside Fenris this time. Zevran frowned at the bottle in his hand. "I do not believe I can open this myself," he said. "The cork is too firmly in for me to remove one-handed."

"Allow me," Fenris said gravely, reaching over to remove it from his hand. He held it in one hand, and closed the other around the neck. He concentrated slightly, a glowing blue shimmer springing up around his hand, which closed a little further. He lifted the hand away from the bottle, then opened it to display the cork sitting on his palm as the shimmer faded again.

"A-ha! A most useful party trick," Zevran exclaimed approvingly. "I have heard mention of you, ah... ripping the heart from people's chests. I assume this is related?"

Fenris nodded, making a face. "Yes. It is one of the powers these lines give me, to reach though solid matter. And as you saw I can be... selective, about whether or not I interact with it. I am unsure how it actually works; I merely _try_ to do something and it usually works."

"Intriguing. Well, let us try the brandy and see how acceptable it is," Zevran said, and poured a tiny bit for both of them. They sniffed and tasted, then Zevran smacked his lips appreciatively. "It is good. Not as good as..."

"Antivan brandy," Fenris said along with him. Zevran broke off and laughed rather than completing whatever he'd been about to say to finish the sentence, then grinned at Fenris. "I am perhaps a little predictable about loving my country and the things that come from it. But let us not talk of that, or I shall become melancholy," he said, and poured more brandy into their glasses.

Fenris nodded. They sipped their brandies in companionable silence. After a while, Zevran shifted closer to Fenris, his leg pressing firmly against his, and leaned close. Still holding his glass in his hand, he straightened one finger, and ran the tip of it gently down Fenris' arm. "I like these clothes of yours," he said, his voice a low purr. "They are much more... _friendly_ , than your armour is."

Fenris looked sideways at him, then slowly smiled. "I suppose they are," he agreed. He watched as Zevran took another sip of his brandy, then tucked his glass between his legs to free his hand, reaching out again to rest his hand on Fenris' shoulder. "You are tense," Zevran said quietly, gently massaging at the muscles under his hand.

Fenris took a sip of his own brandy. "A little," he agreed. "You are..." he trailed off, not sure what he's wanted to say. Too close? Yes. Handsome, as the other elf had called him more than once? Yes, he was that too, he decided. _Striking_ , with that darker skin and bright gold hair. He wondered if it was as silky to the touch as it looked.

"May I touch you?" Fenris heard himself ask, and flushed.

Zevran smiled at him. "Of course," he said approvingly, and removed his hand, picking up his glass and shifting position so he was turned more fully toward Fenris.

Fenris hesitated, then put his own glass down on the end table nearby, before turning back and eyeing the other elf nervously. He didn't know where to touch. Finally, hesitatingly, he reached out and laid his hand flat against Zevran's chest, just below his shoulder on the uninjured right side. He had touched people before, for one reason or another – grabbing them in a fight, putting out his hand to block their way, checking to see if they were alive or dead – but this was the first time be could ever remember touching someone just to _be_ touching them. It made it seem very... strange. Far more intimate than such a simple thing seemed like it should be. He could feel the heat of Zevran's skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart. He kept his eyes down, watching his hand resting against the shirt, dark olive hand on pale white shirt, just inches from where the neck opening exposed deep golden skin. Very slowly he moved his hand, reaching to touch the bare skin so close at hand, chewing worriedly on his lower lip.

It, too, was warm. Warm and soft. He left his hand there, covering the transition from cloth to flesh. Then the pressure against his hand increased, and he looked up, startled, as he realized the elf was slowly leaning forward toward him. He considered moving away, but there was nothing threatening in the other man's move, just a slow inexorable approach.

Green eyes stared unblinking into golden-amber. Zevran's hand rose in a slow graceful movement, cupped around the bowl of the glass in his hand, and he stroked the back of his hand against Fenris' cheek, then curled the hand, the slightly pressure of his fingers urging Fenris to lean forward slightly as well. He hesitated a moment, then did so, trembling slightly now. The other elf was so _close_... he closed his eyes, swallowed thickly.

Lips brushed his, very softly, a feather's touch. Everything seemed very still and silent, and he felt like he was achingly aware of _everything_ ; the feel of the cloth and skin still beneath his hand, Zevran's breath against his skin, the other elf's slightly faster heartbeat, his own thudding wildly in his chest. The press of fingers and the smooth cool edge of the wine glass against his cheek, the sandalwood and musk scent rising from Zevran's skin, the _warmth_ of the other man so close to him.

Another kiss, a little harder, a flick of moist tongue against his lower lip. The hand left his cheek, and he missed it for a moment, until Zevran hitched himself nearer, partially rising on his knees to lean even closer, his forearm coming to rest on Fenris' shoulder, the wine-glass-filled hand at the back of his neck. Then Zevran kissed him a third time, a firm pressure of lips this time that went on and on.

He sighed, and felt Zevran's tongue flick out again, _tasting_ his lips, before the tip darted between them. He started then, jerking back and opening his eyes, reminded unpleasantly of the invasive kisses of the past. And Zevran released him, sat back, and resumed sipping his brandy, as smoothly as if nothing had happened.

He sat very still, waiting for his heart to stop its painful, panicked thudding. Only once he'd calmed again did he realize that he still had his hand on Zevran's chest. Zevran smiled at him again. "We will work on that again some other time, yes?" he asked gently.

Fenris flushed, then nodded. They finished their brandies, then he said good-night and left.

As he lay in bed that night, finding going to sleep very difficult, he found the kiss – the _kisses_ – replaying through his mind again and again. And kept finding his lips curving in a pleased smile.


	75. Pleasant Interlude

Anders said good-bye to his guards, and stepped through the inner door of the gatehouse and into the garden, closing it behind him. He smiled and straightened, happy to be home again. Ganwyn came barrelling out of the bushes and dashed over to him, tail whisking from side to side in enthusiastic greeting. Haelioni, stretched out on the path ahead, merely raised her head to look his way, her tail thumping twice against the flagstones.

Ashes poured down out of his arms, and cat and deerhound sniffed noses for a moment, then Ganwyn gambolled off again and Ashes strutted off to go greet Haelioni. Anders shaded his eyes and peered up at the keep wall overlooking the garden, and raised his hand when he thought he caught a glimpse of movement at the single window. It was hard to tell from down here when someone was there, as at most angles it was either reflecting the sky, or at such an angle that you couldn't really see anything that wasn't just inside glass itself.

He'd made a point of looking at the window from the inside while passing through Sebastian's bedroom on his way to lunch, the day after Sebastian had pointed it out; judging by the pillows and book on the wide shelf of its lower sill, it was a place the prince liked to sit and relax. Though he did wonder if Sebastian's preference for it predated his own installation in the cottage below or not. He couldn't remember if there'd been pillows there when he'd been staying in Sebastian's room while recovering his nerve after the templar invasion, but then he hadn't been noticing much of anything at the time. Apart from Sebastian, he thought with a small smile.

He'd progressed as far as Haelioni and was crouched down scratching her ears, Ashes stropping against his hip, when the cottage door opened and Sebastian stepped out, dressed in simple, workman-like clothing again. The two of them exchanged a warm smile.

"How was the clinic this morning?" Sebastian called as he walked along the path to where Anders waited.

"Busy," Anders said. "There was an outbreak of infections in one of the refugee camps. The chantry has it in hand – it was caused by one of the slit trenches overflowing due to all the rain and runoff this week – but they sent some of the worst-affected people up to the clinic. I spent most of the morning dealing with nasty discharges."

Sebastian made a face. "I hope the rains let up soon, so construction can begin again on the new city quarter. That should help to relieve congestion in the camps, once more buildings start being available for people to move into," he said, then offered his hand to help Anders back to his feet.

Anders didn't actually need the help, but was very happy to accept it. They exchanged a warm smile, Sebastian holding his hand just a little longer than was strictly needed before reluctantly releasing it.

"Well," the prince asked lightly. "What are we working on today?"

Anders turned and gestured toward a nearby stand of birch saplings, springing up around where a larger tree had once stood and apparently fallen naturally some years ago; little was left of it now but a long moss-covered heap of punky, ant-riddled remains hidden among the saplings and winter-killed ferns. "Thinning that out, I think," he said. "I have a hatchet and a small saw meant for pruning that we can use to remove some of the trunks..."

They gathered up the tools they'd need and went over to start work, discussing which saplings to keep and which to remove, to create as nice an effect as possible. Sebastian took care of the cutting down, while Anders hauled aside the trunks; the young trees were still small and light enough that most of them could be dragged by one man.

"We should cut these up for firewood," Sebastian said after a while, looking at the growing pile of felled timber. "Birch burns very well, even when wet. Let me see about getting a proper axe for the job first though, this hatchet is too small," he added, and went off to the guardhouse, leaning in the door to talk to the guards inside. One came out into the garden about ten minute later to deliver an axe suitable for the job. Sebastian thanked him warmly. He set Anders to work on removing the side-branches from the trunks with the small hatchet, then went off and investigated the wood-pile around the side of the cottage, eventually returning rolling a sizable chunk of tree-trunk along the ground to use as a chopping block, and set to work cutting the trunks into shorter lengths.

Anders looked up from removing branches to see that Sebastian was stripping off his shirt; judging by the sweat-marks under the arms, he'd begun to overheat. He tossed it aside to drape over a bush, before picking up the axe and resuming work. Anders swallowed, admiring his muscular back and arms as he chopped away at the tree, making quick work of turning it into small chunks of log suitable for burning. He finished, and turned to fetch a second tree, at which point Anders realized he'd been standing and staring for several minutes. Both men flushed self-consciously.

"Sorry, I should have thought..." Sebastian said hesitantly.

Anders suddenly grinned. "Don't apologize, _I_ certainly don't mind the view," he said, then stooped down to resume trimming branches.

Sebastian laughed. And left his shirt where it was. Anders snuck the occasional glance at him as he continued working, noting the pink flush tinting his ears and face, and decided the prince must be feeling very self-conscious and distracted, knowing Anders was watching him. The mage felt his own mouth twitch into a smile at the realization, pleased by the reaction. And that Sebastian was tacitly allowing such admiration.

"I'm surprised you know how to chop wood," Anders said after a while. "It's hardly a skill I'd imagine a prince knowing."

"Aye, well, my grandfather believed that men should know all the skills necessary for survival; how to find water and edible things in the woods and fields, how to cut wood and make a fire, or even build a simple shelter. And all the different jobs the peasants do; he said, you can't oversee a man's work if you don't know how it's done properly in the first place. And he was a big believer in learning by doing. So I know at least the basics of a lot of things."

"Your grandfather sounds like a very wise man," Anders said.

"He was. I think of all my family, I miss him the most. He was the only one who seemed to think I might some day account to anything."

Anders looked up again, and smiled warmly at Sebastian. "I guess he'd be pleased to see you now," he said.

"Maybe," Sebastian said dubiously. "I don't think even he would have believed that I might some day end up as the Prince of Starkhaven. Though I'd like to think he'd be proud at what we're trying to accomplish here," he added softly.

Anders grunted agreement, and rose to his feet, looking at the angle of the sun. "I suppose we should stop soon to go get ready for lunch," he pointed out.

Sebastian grinned. "No need. When I saw I'd have time free to join you again this morning, I made arrangements."

"Oh? And just what _arrangements_ did you make?" Anders asked, feeling equal parts amused and suspicious.

"Ah, here comes the answer to your question right now," Sebastian said, nodding beyond him toward the gatehouse.

Anders turned and saw Fenris and Zevran entering, Fenris carrying a large basket and looking a little self-conscious, in regular clothing instead of his usual armour, and Zevran carrying a much smaller basket, the necks of several bottles of wine sticking up out of it.

"I thought we might have a picnic in your garden," Sebastian said warmly, as he put aside the axe and retrieved his shirt.

"It's a little muddy for a picnic," Anders pointed out dubiously.

"There are benches, we don't have to sit on the ground," Sebastian said. "Or we could bring out the table and chairs if we want to dine more properly.

They all exchanged greetings as the other two grew closer, and quickly debated over proper seating for the meal, eventually deciding on bringing out the table and setting it up where the path widened before it split around the pond. In all the shifting around during the setting of the table, and arranging and claiming seats, Anders was amused to see Zevran purposefully claim a seat beside Fenris, instead of across from him, and didn't miss the swift pleased smile Fenris shot towards the other man before resuming his usual expression. Whatever was going on between the two of them was clearly going well.

Good for them, he thought, and happily claimed the last remaining chair, between Zevran and Sebastian.

Lunch went well, each of them heaping their plates with an assortment of finger-foods from the basket – cold meat sandwiches, flaky tarts filled with a mix of egg and chopped fried bacon, little fried pies stuffed with different sweet fillings, rich buttery rolls baked around a centre of soft cheese, puffed pastry cases full of cold savoury creamed fillings of poultry, mushrooms, or pureed vegetables, sweet little spiced cookies, tiny frosted cakes – and then eating them without benefit of cutlery, washed down with plenty of wine.

Anders smiled in pleasure as he leaned back in his chair, sipping at his wine while watching Fenris laughing – _laughing!_ – over something Zevran had said to him, Sebastian grinning as he nibbled on one of the pies, his eyes also turned Fenris' way. Zevran grinned salaciously as he licked a drip of something off his thumb. Anders looked back over at Sebastian just he as turned as well, and as their eyes met he saw the equal pleasure in the moment showing in the prince's eyes. They smiled at each other in perfect accord.

He was, he decided, for what might well be the first time in his life, exactly where he wanted – _needed_ – to be. It was a very good feeling.


	76. Practised Skills

Zevran rested his hand for a moment on Fenris' shoulder, enjoying the feel of his lean muscles moving under the thin leather. The other elf darted a quick sideways look his way. "Come to my room again this evening?" Zevran asked softly, leaning a little closer as they walked down the empty corridor together.

Fenris nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Good," Zevran said, and left his hand drop, sliding down the warrior's back, his fingertips lightly brushing along the so-temptingly bared strip of skin down Fenris' spine where the back parts of his armour didn't quite meet, hiding a smile as the elf shivered slightly at the caressing touch. A pity he had his sword across his back; Zevran was only able to trace the upper portion before lifting his hand away. He wondered, again, at the purpose of the gap; in most armour it would be considered a dangerous flaw. Something to do with the elf's tattooed markings, perhaps.

They turned a corner and went down a narrow flight of stairs, emerging in a wider hallway, and from there went out a door into a practise yard, well-lit by the later afternoon sunlight. Sebastian was already there, stringing his bow, Anders sitting on a bench nearby with his cat draped around his shoulders like a furry scarf, its tail and legs dangling down one side of his neck with its head and forequarters stretched out along the top of the opposite shoulder. Zevran walked over and took a seat beside him, while Fenris moved over to where a line of practise dummies stood, unlimbering his sword and quickly moving through a series of warm-up movements.

"A fine day," Zevran observed, leaning back against the sun-warmed wall. "How does work on your garden go?"

"Fine, I should be ready to start planting vegetables and things once we come back from the planting festival."

Zevran nodded, watching the prince begin to shoot, drawing and releasing several times in smooth succession, filling the target with a tight cluster of arrows. He nodded at the display. "He is quite good at that," he observed, "For someone who was complaining at lunch that he is getting out of practise."

Anders smiled. "He's usually even better," he said, then looked over to where Fenris was now methodically working through different blows, each of which ended in another explosion of straw from the dummy. "They're both as good at what they do as you usually are with those daggers of yours."

Zevran grinned. "That is very good indeed."

Anders glanced sideways at the elf, then lowered his voice. "So. I get the impression you and Fenris are...?"

Zevran's grin widened. "Very good friends? Yes. Lovers? Not yet, though I am working on it."

"Yes, well, just be careful," Anders said dryly. "I'd hate to see either of you hurt."

"I know," Zevran said, expression suddenly serious. "He has had very bad experiences in his past, and has many issues he needs to work past. And I know that startling or angering or frightening him would be most unwise. I am taking things very slowly and carefully with him. He... intrigues me, very much," he said, and looked over to where Fenris was chopping apart the tattered remains of the practise dummy. He smiled softly. "I have always been attracted to the dangerous beauties, you know that. He is... rather more dangerous than most. And very beautiful, in more than just looks."

"Well, I'll wish you luck, then," Anders said, and smiled at Zevran. "If anyone can succeed at seducing him, I suppose it would be you."

Zevran smirked. "I will take that as a compliment," he said, then looked over at Sebastian. "So. How are things between you and the so-handsome prince...?" he asked quietly.

Anders flushed slightly. "He has... duties, and vows, that prevent us from being anything more than friends right now."

Zevran nodded slowly. "But you love him anyway. Like Soria and myself."

Anders nodded, his own eyes following the prince hungrily as Sebastian walked over to retrieve his arrows from the target. "Yes. But I also... I _respect_ that he has beliefs, and follows them. So many of the people I've known over the years, in the chantry and elsewhere, seemed to only pay lip-service to things like religion, rules or laws. To feel that it was okay to break a few rules, as long as they didn't get _caught_ breaking them," he said bitterly, then smiled crookedly. "Maker knows I've bent or broken a few rules myself. Some of which I now regret. But Sebastian is... unusually honourable."

Zevran smiled understandingly. "Honourable people – there are not enough of them in the world. But when you do meet them, it makes you wish you were a better person yourself, yes?"

Anders grinned in amusement. "Yes. Or makes you want to strangle them."

Zevran laughed. "I know what you mean! Soria, and Alistair..." he shook his head. "The times they took the long way around to do something, in order to do something by the rules instead of just getting it done and over with as expediently as possible... it made me want to shake them! And yet now I would not change a single hair on either of their heads."

Anders nodded, watching Sebastian fire another sequence of arrows at the target, from a further distance. "Sebastian and I _loathed_ each other for pretty much all the time we knew each other in Kirkwall. It was only because of Hawke that we tolerated each other's company at all," he said softly. "But I know what you mean. Even though his vows are one of the things keeping us from becoming _more_ than just friends right now... I would not have him give them up until _he_ is ready to. Just knowing that he wants me here, that he is _trying_ to make a space in his life in which we can be together, even just as friends..." he broke off, blinking back tears.

"It is a precious thing," Zevran said softly, resting his hand on Anders' shoulder for a moment. "And there can be great happiness in simple friendship, even when more is wanted," he said wistfully, then patted Anders' shoulder and released it. "But enough of such talk. Tell me, how much longer will I have to be wrapped up like a Firstday present?"

Anders snickered. Zevran gave him a look, then grinned. "You are imagining a certain someone unwrapping me," he said, and shook his finger warningly at the mage as Anders grinned back at him. "Not that I would object if he wanted to, of course," the assassin added with studied innocence.

Anders grinned. "Tomorrow morning," he promised. "I think it's healed enough we'll be able to remove the splints and the bindings, as long as you keep the arm in a sling and are careful not to do anything strenuous with it. You must only do extremely light exercise with it at first, nothing that would strain the mended bones. There will be some muscle wastage, as you've seen during baths, but I can at least apply some healing energy to remove the worst of the stiffness from it. I suppose you'll be glad to be able to resume weapon practise yourself," he added, nodding to where Fenris was dismantling a second practise dummy while Sebastian filled a third target full of arrows, the pattern noticeably tighter than the first had been even though he was now shooting from a greater distance.

Zevran's right arm moved, and a throwing knife flashed into the centre of the target beside the one Sebastian was shooting at. The prince barely paused in his shooting, only one arrow landing a finger's width outside the cluster of previous arrows in his startlement at the knife's sudden appearance. Zevran grinned at Anders. "Just because you have not seen me practising does not mean I have allowed my skills to molder. Apart, of course, from those dependant on my having a working left arm," he admitted with a grimace. "Those I will need to work on, once the arm and shoulder are healed enough to allow it."

Sebastian, having gone to recover his arrows again, walked back over with Zevran's dagger. "An amazing shot, from such a distance," he said approvingly, holding it out to the assassin. Zevran grinned and accepted his knife back, making it vanish back into whatever spot he'd produced it from. Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at the archery butts, then turned back to them. "Well, I should practise more, but I have another dinner to attend tonight. I believe it's finally sunk in to the my nobles that I am here to stay, not a temporary aberration. The politicking is starting in earnest."

"I'll walk back with you," Anders said, rising to his feet. "See you tomorrow, Zevran."

Zevran nodded. "And you as well," he said, and watched the pair leave the practise yard, walking close enough together for their arms to brush against each other. The outside corners of Sebastian's eyes crinkled as he smiled over something the mage had murmured to him as they moved off together. Zevran concealed a smile, pleased for Anders that the two had made at least some progress towards acknowledging the attraction between the pair of them.

He lounged in the sunlight, watching Fenris finishing his exercises, admiring how smoothly the other man moved, swinging his sword around as if it was a much smaller and lighter weapon. Finally Fenris sheathed the monstrous weapon, and stretched hugely, before turning to look around. He smiled as he saw Zevran still waiting for him, and walked over to him, a bit of a bounce in his stride, his movement loose and smooth-flowing after the workout.

Zevran rose to his feet, smiling warmly at him. "Shall we return to my rooms?" he asked. "Or would you prefer to go bathe and change first?" he asked, reaching out and running one finger down Fenris' arm. He'd been giving the warrior such teasing touches for several days now, as well as occasional exploratory kissing when they were in private, and had hopes that Fenris would be ready to move on to more interesting activities soon. The heated look the warrior gave him now, before turning to walk toward the door back into the building was a hopeful sign.

Fenris was moving quickly, his long legs easily outdistancing Zevran at first. The assassin was beginning to suspect he was going to have to do some rather undignified running to catch up and find out whether this was a yes or a no to Fenris joining him in his rooms, when the warrior abruptly came to a stop, and looked back at Zevran. "Yes," Fenris growled out, the low rumble of his voice sending a delicious shiver through the assassin, before he turned and resumed moving, at a walking pace now, his back stiffly upright. Zevran paced along silently at his side, fighting to not let his hopeful anticipation get the better of him.

As soon as the door to Zevran's sitting room closed behind them, Fenris spun around, his tattoos flaring brightly as he stepped close, crowding the shorter elf back against the wall, lowering his head to kiss hungrily at Zevran. The assassin stiffened for a moment, having to control his own near-instinctual reactions to the warrior's sudden movement. Fenris hesitated and drew back slightly, looking worried at Zevran's reaction. Zevran smiled reassuringly, pressing close against him and reaching up to lock his hand in Fenris' hair, pulling him down to continue the kiss. He let his mouth open invitingly, and after the barest hesitation, felt Fenris take advantage of it for the first time. Zevran all but purred encouragement as Fenris plundered his mouth, the sharp tips of the warrior's gauntlets digging into the assassin's lower back and shoulder as Fenris' hold tightened.

Zevran mentally cursed the lack of a usable left arm as he released his grip on Fenris' hair and hooked his arm around the other elf's shoulders to press him even closer, then shifted his weight onto his right leg and lifted his left, hooking it around Fenris as best he could. Fenris moaned into his mouth as their groins pressed tightly together, both of them with a noticeable hardness there, his tongue exploring every recess of Zevran's mouth.

Finally Fenris broke off the kiss, the bright glow fading away. He looked... almost frightened, Zevran decided. He let his leg drop back to the ground, and slid his hand soothing up and down Fenris' back, smiling warmly up at him. "That was _magnífico_ ," Zevran purred, putting every ounce of approval he could manage into his voice, smile widening as Fenris flushed with embarrassed pleasure. He reached up, gently stroking the side of the warrior's face, pushing back his hair to stroke his fingertips lightly along the edge of Fenris' ear.

"Come, let us sit," he said quietly, rapidly deciding to avoid the bedroom for now; doubtless beds would prove to be another minefield of bad memories for the ex-slave, and he wanted whatever happened next to be _perfect_ , or at least as pleasant for Fenris as he could possibly manage.

Fenris let him lead him over to the couch, stripping off his sword and gauntlets without urging, carefully putting them aside before seating himself. Zevran knelt down on the couch, straddling the warrior's right thigh. Fenris hesitantly lifted his hands, settling them on either side of Zevran's waist to steady him. Zevran smiled warmly at him, before leaning forward and kissing him gently, letting his hand rise to rest against the side of the warrior's neck, feeling Fenris' excited pulse surging under his hand. Zevran kissed him again, at the outside corner of his mouth, then lowered his head, kissing very gently at the markings on the other elf's throat, something he had only progressed as far as once before.

Fenris sighed, his eyes half-closing and head tilting back, giving Zevran better access to his neck. The assassin spent a little while on exploring it, with kisses and licks and gentle nibbles, gradually working his way lower, taking careful note of how the other elf reacted to touches to the rough, raised lines, to the softer skin between them, trying again things that he knew had pleased the warrior last time.

Zevran let his hand slide down the edge of the leather armour, stopping when it reached the first clasp holding the jacket closed. He sat back a little, watching the warrior's reaction as he toyed with the clasp, then leaned down and lapped at the soft skin exposed by the scalloped V of the neck as he gently undid it, and let his fingertips slide in under the edge of the leather. Slowly, with plenty of gentle play and reassuring touches and kisses, he undid the tight-fitting coat, as far down as the heavier leather of the lapped belt, folding it back so he could kiss and tease the warrior's smooth chest, explore the lines graven there. Sometimes they flared into brightness, and he stopped whatever he was doing and waited, while Fenris collected himself, watching until he was sure Fenris was ready for him to continue.

Fenris reacted beautifully to having his nipples touched and then toyed with, sucking in air and arching his back, eyes shutting almost entirely as he moaned in pleasure. When Zevran lowered his head and licked at and then gently sucked on one, Fenris jerked noticeably, hands tightening on the assassin's waist, lines flaring into brightness again. This time Zevran did not stop, but instead kept up the gentle lapping and sucking, switching back and forth between them. He let his hand drop, palming gently over the bulge in Fenris' leggings, then again with increasing firmness as the warrior groaned and growled something in Arcanum, his hips rolling to push himself hard against Zevran's hand.

The assassin massaged his hand against the tight leathers, drawing a series of harsh groans and gasps and guttural noises from the warrior. He raised himself up again, kissing hungrily at Fenris. The warrior released his waist, hands rising to tangle into Zevran's hair. And this time it was Fenris that finally opened his mouth invitingly. Zevran teased at his lips with the tip of his tongue, sucked in and nibbled on Fenris' lower lip for a moment, drawing increasingly frustrated groans from the man before finally, finally, letting the tip of his tongue slip into the other elf's mouth, gently plundering it even as he palmed his hand over Fenris' erection yet again, with more pressure this time.

The warrior cried out hoarsely as his hips snapped forward, then pumped against Zevran's hand, his eyes shut tight and head bending sharply back as he spent himself within his leathers. Zevran kept up the massaging pressure, muttering endearments as he pressed little light kisses to Fenris' lips, his cheeks, his closed eyes, until finally the orgasm and aftershocks ended, the warrior slumping loosely back against the seat. His beautiful green eyes finally fluttered open again, looking dazed and heart-achingly vulnerable for a moment in the aftermath. Zevran leaned against him, stroking his face reassuring and once again mentally cursing the last of a second hand. There was so _much_ he wanted to do in this moment to physically reassure the other man, and so little he could actually do.

"You are well?" he asked softly after a moment, letting his hand come to rest on Fenris' exposed chest, feeling his thundering heartbeat already slowing as the warrior drew in deep, steady breaths of air.

Fenris blinked, and swallowed several times before answering, his voice husky. "Yes," he said, then flushed. "I... need to go bathe."

Zevran smiled warmly at him, lifted his hand to caress the side of his face again. "All right," he murmured softly. "Come back again later? At least to eat and talk for a while, even if nothing more."

Fenris nodded curtly, already looking away, straightening up. Zevran carefully shifted backwards and rose to his feet, watching as the warrior's fingers deftly drew his armour back together, redid the clasps. He worried a little at the shuttered expression on Fenris' face as he rose to his feed, retrieving his sword and gauntlets.

The warrior looked nervously at him. Then a sudden shy smile curved Fenris' lips, and he leaned down, kissing Zevran lightly on the lips. He straightened and looked away again, his cheeks flushed. "Thank you," he growled out, before hurrying off.

Zevran was grinning as he made sure the door to his suite was properly locked after Fenris had left, before he hurried out of the room as well. He needed to take care of a rather pressing problem of his own that still remained, before he also did what he could about bathing and neatening himself up prior to dinner. Just food and drink and talk tonight, he decided, and maybe a little reassuring petting. He didn't want to push the warrior any faster than he was prepared to go, not when he was already progressing so excellently well.


	77. Choices

He woke with his head full of confused, disturbing dreams. He put them aside to think about later, and instead concentrated on the simple routine of rising and preparing for his day in the pre-dawn darkness. There was just enough light for him to make out the furnishings of his room as slightly different degrees of grey. Not that he needed to see anything, as he stood and stripped off his night clothes, folding them neatly and tucking them away under his pillow. He twitched the bedding into position, smoothing it with one hand, then padded barefoot over to the clothes press to get out clean small clothes and pull them on. Then over to the armour stands next. He reached out and lightly touched the fur edging around the neck of his winter armour, then moved down the row, taking the oldest, original set off its stand, wanting the comfort of its years-long familiarity.

As he pulled on the thin leather outfit, stroking his fingers against its buttery soft, well-worn supple surface, he found himself thinking how odd it was that he treasured this ageing set of armour more than anything else he owned. It was the last thing he had, apart from his tattoos, that had been given him by Danarius. Though 'given' was perhaps not quite the right word, implying as it did that it had been meant to please. _Equipped_ , perhaps.

This last remaining link to his now-dead Master was a strange thing to cherish, perhaps, but these clothes had seen him through so much, over the years. He could remember when the armour was still stiff and new, when he was still in Minrathous, slave to Danarius and with no concept that 'freedom' even existed. He had worn it on the boat trip to Seheron, where Danarius had been part of a group of magisters seeking to defeat and either kill or subjugate the Fog Warriors so that they might use their jungle fastnesses as bases from which to move on to attack the qunari. He had been wearing it as he protected Danarius when their position was overrun, saving the badly wounded magister's life, when a well-thrown club had brained him, knocking him out for long enough that he had been left behind as the magisters retreated, leaving him for dead to be captured by the fog warriors.

He had still been wearing it, months later, living peacefully with the warriors after they'd nursed him back to health, when the magisters returned to try again, and Danarius had with one magic-reinforced order turned him against the fog warriors and reclaimed him. It had been drenched in their blood afterwards, sticking disturbingly to his skin as the blood dried. Danarius had made him leave it so, he remembered, as a reminder that there was no freedom, only his master's word.

He had still been wearing it, well-cleaned and reconditioned by then, on their return to Tevinter, and on his subsequent escape in search of the elusive thing called 'freedom' that he'd so briefly had among the fog warriors. And all the long years in Kirkwall, while he waited for Danarius to try reclaiming him, and feared that, as in Seheron, the magister would _succeed_ , requiring nothing more than a single spoken command to his slave to accomplish it.

That fear, at least, was now as dead as the magister himself. Danarius had tried to reclaim him, one treacherous night in the Hanged Man, and failed. His true freedom, he now felt, had started when the magister had died, and his fear with it. No more did he answer to any man's orders, except at his own free choice.

It was a good feeling, he decided as he strapped on his sword and left his rooms, setting out for the stables. Knowing that he had _choice_ now. He could choose to stay here, or to go elsewhere if the desire took him. He could choose to live in the keep, or to look elsewhere for lodgings. He could choose... personal things. Who to associate with. Who to be friends with. Who... to let closer.

As he tacked up Aer for a ride, he flushed, thinking briefly of Zevran, then pushed that thought aside, too, as something to consider later. For now he concentrated on leading Aer out of the stable, before mounting the black gelding and riding him around the keep and out into the upper city, exchanging a nod with the gate guards in the pre-dawn greyness. He rode at a slow walk, Aer's hoofs clopping loudly against the cobbled streets, down the hill toward the middle city.

A pool of light lit the cobbles ahead, where a bakery was already opening, servants – many of them elven – already queueing up to buy bread and pastries for the households they worked in. He exchanged nods and the occasional smile with them, many of their faces familiar to him now as this bakery had become one of his regular morning stops as well. He had barely reined Aer to a halt when the baker's youngest son came dashing out, a broad smile on his homely face, to hand Fenris a paper-wrapped parcel. Fenris smiled at the boy, and handed him a silver coin for the parcel, and a copper coin for himself, before moving on.

That was another thing he liked, having coin to spend on treats for himself when he wanted them. The bakery was a particularly good one, serving as it did both the nobles in the upper city – at least those who didn't employ cooks of their own – and the merchants and well-off townspeople of the middle city. The master baker and his family and horde of apprentices baked vast amounts of everything from plain bread through to fancy cakes, starting well before dawn and not finishing up again until late at night. Presented with so much choice, Fenris hadn't known what to ask for the first few times he'd gone in, lingering near the door and looking hungrily at the array of delicious things before making his choices. The baker had made a pleased comment one morning about how he seemed to be trying to work his way through everything they made, and he'd found himself smiling, and agreed, and said how difficult he found it to choose from so much variety. One of the waiting servants had suggested he do what her master have her do – pick up "a silver's worth of whatever was good that day", and let the baker and his boy's figure out what that was.

Hence the little packages, which might contain anything. It made his breakfast taste even better, somehow, that he never knew what might be inside until he finally opened it and ate. Sweet or savoury, plain or fancy, the size of the parcel varying from day to day. He had a sneaking suspicion he sometimes got more than his money's worth, but he supposed it evened out in the end; the baker was getting extra business from his patronage, he was sure, having overheard the bakery's name in conjunction with his own a time or two while passing along the crowded city streets.

He rode Aer out of the city, admiring the flush of dawn colours to the east as he rode Aer along a road to the south of the city, before plunging off it into a narrow forest path that twisted and turned and eventually emerged on a bald hilltop south of the city. Off to the east he could just make out the vineyard covered hill where he'd rode with Sebastian one winter's day, the greening grasses and vines brightly lit now by the morning sun. He dismounted, leaving Aer to graze on the tender new grasses just beginning to push up through the remnants of last year's stems, and sat down on a limestone outcrop, looking north toward the city.

There was a round flaky pastry filled with custard and dried cherries in his package this morning, as well as a couple different sausage rolls, one spicy and one garlicy, and a handful of cookies. And some sort of sweet bun, he saw, and pulled it out for a closer look. Dark and slightly lumpy, with a coarse grain, the top glittering with crystallized sugar and bits of candied ginger. He put that aside for last, and made short work of the sausage rolls as he watched the landscape spread out around him, the shadows of clouds flowing smoothly across the land.

It was only when he started in on the pastry that he finally allowed his thoughts to return to the disturbing dreams of the night before. He supposed he shouldn't be too surprised by having them, not after what he and Zevran had done the day before. He felt himself flushing, cheeks and ears heating in pleased embarrassment as he remembered their kisses, and Zevran's hand on him, urging him to a pleasure he hadn't entirely realized he could even have so simply, so easily, before it had happened.

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little arousal even now as he remembered it. He had enjoyed what had happened between them very much. But his subsequent dreams... they left him feeling disquieted, confused. Familiar dreams, nightmares really, of when he'd been a slave, of things being done to him, of shamed arousal and hurt. Except at some point in the dreams last night the faceless person had become Zevran, and that was what confused him. Awake, he couldn't _imagine_ Zevran doing those hurtful things to him, and yet... some part of him... almost wanted that.

He frowned, and licked his fingers clean, before starting in on the cookies. Perhaps it was like the kisses. He hadn't been sure he'd like the kisses at first, and sometimes he hadn't, and then he'd started to like them, and now... he liked them very much. With Zevran, anyway, he still wasn't so sure he'd like kissing anyone else. He nibbled on a shortbread cookie, and considered what made Zevran's kisses so... _nice_.

Perhaps it was that Zevran's kisses were not... taken. They were _given_ , something that Zevran shared with him, as he might bring one of these cookies back to the keep and share it with the elf. A gift. As his experience the previous afternoon had been a gift, a gift and a revelation, that he could have such enjoyment of touches to his body, and it not be... shameful.

Was that really all the difference it took, he wondered? That instead of being something taken against his will, that it be given, a _sharing_ , for the things he remembered as dreadful to instead become something... desirable? It had been so with this matter of kissing, of intimate touching. Could some of the other things that he remembered as hated degradation be pleasurable, too, if done with someone he liked and trusted? As something he _chose_ to allow someone to do?

The idea both excited and disturbed him. It made the strange dreams of the night before less threatening in some ways, and... more frightening, in others. He didn't like Zevran being together in his head with the terrible things he remembered. Yet at the same time, the thought of the elf touching him in different ways was a deeply thrilling one. Or... of him touching Zevran. He remembered how much he'd enjoyed what Zevran had done to him the day before. Could _he_ do that to the other elf, as well? Rouse in Zevran the same deep pleasure he himself had felt?

He abruptly rose to his feet, abandoning his breakfast on the rock and pacing back and forth for a while, trying to regain his calm. It would follow, wouldn't it.. they were both men, built the same way. What pleased one should the other. And for something to truly be shared, both participants should enjoy it. Zevran had... given him more than he'd realized, he decided.

He still felt confused. He needed to think on this more, perhaps, or talk to someone about it – Anders perhaps, since he couldn't quite imagine talking to Zevran himself about it. He returned to the rock, gave the last cookie to Aer, and stood eating the bun, which proved to be rolled round chopped walnuts and bits of dried apricot and candied ginger, the dough itself not noticeably sweet, but rich with butter and eggs, and flavoured nicely with cardamon. He'd have to stop by the bakery on the way back and mention how good he thought it was, a habit he'd fallen into some time back, and which sometimes resulted in a brief outbreak of smiles and shoving among the apprentices; proof, he thought, that it was the work of one of them, trying something new, that he'd praised.

But first he would finish his ride, and perhaps stop in at the alienage to see how Kyla's mother and brother's were.

And maybe buy something for Zevran. He remembered how much Anders had smiled over their gifts for him when he moved back into the cottage, and thought about how pleasant it would be to see Zevran smiling that way too.


	78. Banked Coals

Anders slowly guided Zevran through flexing his arm through a range of motions, his hand that was resting on the assassin's shoulder glowing with healing energy. He'd done some healing from the shoulder all the way down to the wrist first thing after removing the splints, to do what he could to loosen the stiffened muscles. Even so, Zevran's first few movements have been slow, weak, and obviously painful – he'd been pale and sweating from the effort involved. They'd been working on increasing his range of motion and limberness for a while now, with additional healing to speed the process; the assassin could move his arm with little pain now, but dealing with the remaining weakness and stiffness, and the actual regrowth of the lost muscle mass, would all take time.

Anders finally brought the lengthy session to an end. "I think that's about all we can safely do with magical aid; you'll need to exercise lightly on a regular basis to gradually stretch out and build up the muscles. _Don't_ overdo it, it's going to take time to recover properly, and overwork will do you more harm than good. And keep the arm in the sling when you're not using it, for the first week," he instructed Zevran.

Zevran nodded. "I will do so. My thanks for all your help," he said.

Anders grinned at him. "No problem. Just don't go getting Fenris mad enough to take another swipe at you. He might not pull the stroke next time."

Zevran snorted, then smiled a trifle smugly. "I do not believe that will be a problem," he said. "And besides..."

Anders held up a hand, as he interrupted the elf. "I know you're about to make a joke about what you'd prefer to see him stroking or pulling, and I don't want to hear it. Now go take the bath I'm sure you're dying to take. See you at lunch," he finished with a cheerful smile, and left quickly, grinning to himself at having spotted the obvious response before Zevran could actually make it.

It wasn't actually all that much longer until lunch, he realized, just a little over half an hour remaining – dealing with Zevran's arm had taken even longer than he'd thought it would. Good thing he'd let Dugall and Sister Maura know he likely wouldn't be making it in for regular clinic today. He considered returning to his cottage and doing something there – gardening, or cleaning perhaps – and then abruptly decided that he wasn't feeling that ambitious after expending so much healing energy this morning. He'd go early to Sebastian's room, he decided; he could always just sit and read until lunch, if the prince was busy, or perhaps the two of them could talk a little, while waiting for the others to show up.

The guards at the door smiled and nodded greeting as they let him in. He crossed the sitting room, and looked in the open door of the study; Sebastian wasn't there. Well, he'd just get a book, and sit and read for a while he decided. He recalled Sebastian once saying something about having a complete collection of Brother Genitivi's travelogues, and headed over to check the bookshelf near the desk for them. The row of familiar slim brown volumes was easily spotted, and he spent a few minutes checking covers, until he found one he hadn't read before, about the good brother's brief – and unplanned – sojourn among the Alamarri pirates off of Ferelden's coast.

He was turning away to leave the room when his hip knocked against a stack of loose papers on Sebastian's desk, sending them cascading to the floor. He muttered a curse and crouched down to gather them up, then froze as he saw what the pages contained.

Those were _his_ drawings. What were they doing in Sebastian's office?

He looked at the sheet in his hand, still showing evidence of having been violently crumpled at some time in the past. Something he'd drawn last fall, he thought, judging by the vague memories he had of some of the subject matter – plants, and a still-leggy Ashes. Stunned, he sank down to sit on the floor, picking up page after page and looking at them, recognizing all of them.

He heard a step at the door of the room as he reached for another sheet, and looked up to see Sebastian coming to an abrupt halt just inside it, a shocked expression on his face. Then guilt... and embarrassment.

"Why...?" Anders asked, voice husky.

Sebastian's jaw tightened for a moment, then he flushed and walked over, crouching down to begin gathering up the scattered sheets as well. "I didn't know if I could trust your surrender when you first came," he said, voice low and even. "If you were even telling me the truth about whether or not Justice had truly left you, or were merely... biding your time. Still planning to do harm. Or even perhaps that Justice _had_ left, but might return at any time. So I gave orders for any papers you discarded to be brought to me, that I might check for anything worrisome. The writings I always burned, once I'd seen that they were not attempts at re-writing your manifesto, or drafts of attempts to communicate with conspirators or anything similar."

Anders considered that, then slowly nodded. "I don't suppose I can blame you," he said, voice still hoarse. He was very upset, a part of him distantly realized, but it was more the _shock_ of it than anything else. "Why did you keep..." he trailed off, waved the paper in his hand. A sheet of sketches, from just after he'd first been moved into the cottage, showing signed of having been neatly folded at some time after its crumpling. A sparrow grooming its half-lifted wing, Nate's head, a sketch of Hawke laughing, his head thrown back. He remembered how he'd abruptly started weeping as he'd drawn it, _missing_ Hawke and Kirkwall so much. A tear had spoiled a sketch of Ser Pounce-A-Lot, further down the page... he remembered how he'd abruptly crumpled the paper into a ball, flung it away from him, and then curled up on the couch, hugging a cushion and sobbing into it, eventually crying himself into exhausted sleep.

The memory of his misery then combined with his upset now. His hand started trembling, and his eyes filled with tears. "Why?" he repeated, voice breaking.

Sebastian dropped to his knees beside him, and drew Anders into his arms. Anders resisted at first, remaining stiff and uncooperative. "I kept the drawings because I liked them too much to burn them," Sebastian said softly, voice barely more than a breath. "They're beautifully done. You have a gift for drawing. I like to take them out and look at them sometimes, while I'm thinking about things. That's why they were out right now, in fact. I... should have got rid of them and rescinded the orders about having your things brought to me without your knowledge, once I realized I could trust you," he said. "I'm sorry." Anders finally relaxed a little, letting his head lower to Sebastian's shoulder. The rogue's hand rose and rubbed comfortingly at the base of his neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

Anders snorted, and lifted his head again, forcing a weak smile. "I bet you read a lot of very bad poetry," he said hoarsely.

Sebastian gave a weak laugh, and hugged him tightly. "It wasn't _all_ bad," he said, then smiled back at Anders. "Though I never felt the urge to keep any of it."

Anders snorted, then lowered his head again, turning it sideways this time, away from Sebastian. The prince's hand hesitated in its continued rubbing, then slid higher, cupping protectively over the side of his head, and he felt Sebastian's cheek press against the back of his head. Anders sighed, then hesitantly let his right arm slide down from where it was trapped between himself and Sebastian, and hooked it around the other man's waist in a one-armed hug, his left hand resting flat against Sebastian's chest. For a few minutes they just stayed like that, holding on to each other in silence.

"Keep the sketches, if you like them," Anders finally said, very quietly. He turned his head over to face the other way, towards Sebastian, pressing his forehead into the join of his neck and shoulder for a moment, breathing in his warm scent. "The others will be here soon," he whispered.

Sebastian nodded. He loosened his arms a little, the two of them easing apart again. They paused, studying each others faces. Sebastian's hand lifted and cupped against the side of Anders' face. "I will keep them, then," he said quietly, and leaned slowly forward.

They kissed, very gently and tenderly. It was not quite a chaste kiss, Anders decided – certainly not an innocent one, either – but it was not a heated one. Just breathtaking in every best meaning of the word. If passion was a leaping blaze, then this was banked coals, safe and warm. And endlessly sweet, as lips brushed against lips, hesitantly at first, then firmly

They were both flushed when it finally ended. They got back to their feet, feeling awkward with each other for a moment, then Sebastian smiled and crouched down to gather up the remaining pages. Anders did the same, handing his sheath of them over after they rose again.

"I will give orders for the servant to just destroy any he finds from now on," Sebastian said softly.

Anders smiled shyly at him. "Maybe I'll give him some to bring to you occasionally anyway."

Sebastian flushed, looking pleased. "I'd like that."

They could hear the sounds of the table being set now. "Are my eyes red?" Anders asked apprehensively.

"No," Sebastian said. "You look fine," he added, then smiled slightly. "I'm not all tear-dampened, am I?"

Anders laughed softly. "No, you look fine too," he said warmly, then looked around, and picked up the book he'd left sitting on the desk. "I'm borrowing this," he said, holding it up.

Sebastian glanced at the title and nodded. "That's a good one," he agreed. They fell silent again, just looking at each other. "Well. We should go take our seats," Sebastian pointed out.

Anders nodded, and they left the room together.

* * *

Sebastian glanced at Anders as he picked up his plate and began serving himself. He was glad that the mage had been willing to accept his explanation and apology. And considerably heartened by that kiss. Part of him wished he had dared to put a little of his true feelings into it, but mainly he just felt warmed by how tender it had been.

He wondered if the Divine would appoint a new Grand Cleric for the Free Marches to replace Elthina any time soon – not that anyone _could_ truly replace Elthina – and if she did not, should he perhaps write to her directly and request to be formally released from his remaining vows, as being inappropriate to his responsibilities as Prince of Starkhaven. Truly he should have written to her year, when he'd first returned to Starkhaven to take up the rulership. If he'd realized then that most of a year would have passed, and the Free Marches still be without a Grand Cleric... well, too late to change the past now.

Zevran arrived, hair still damp from a bath, smiling broadly. He was wearing a shirt properly for the first time since Sebastian had met him, his left arm in its sleeve and supported in a sling.

"Good afternoon!" the assassin called out gaily, as he came to take his seat, looking with mild disappointment at Fenris' empty chair before he began serving himself.

Sebastian nodded at him, then frowned slightly. "That reminds me – we will be leaving for the planting festival in a day or two. Anders, is Zevran's arm up to riding a horse for so long? Or will he need to go in a carriage?"

"Should be fine for riding. Better for him, anyway; most gaits will bounce the arm around less than a carriage ride well."

Sebastian nodded. "Excellent. We will have to see about picking out a pair of horses you can use for the trip then," he said. "Assuming you ride?"

"Of course," Zevran said with a wide smile. "I ride very well, I am told."

Anders made an amused snorting sound. Sebastian blinked, then smiled. "Remind me not to feed him any further straight lines," he remarked to Anders.

"Good luck on that. I believe you could say 'good morning' to Zev and he could turn it into innuendo," the mage answered.

Zevran grinned, then changed the subject. "So. Now that I have two operable arms again, I believe I need to consider replacing my armour. Anders had mentioned you might be able to recommend a particularly fine leather-crafter to me?" he asked, looking enquiringly at Sebastian.

"Of course. The man I hired to produce some new armour for Fenris, after he joined us here. If you'd like, I can give you directions to his shop, and a letter of introduction; he will give your work priority, as a guest of mine."

"Thank you, that would be excellent," Zevran said, smiling widely, and the two men fell into a discussion of rogue armour.

It was almost a quarter of an hour into the meal before Fenris finally arrived, smelling of horse but looking pleased with himself. "Sorry I am so late, I went to visit Kyla's family and then did some shopping, and I lost track of time," he explained.

"How are Gevin and the rest?" Anders asked interestedly.

"Quite well," Fenris said as he quickly served himself. "Gevin was wondering if he could go visit Kyla soon, now that the roads are clear," he added, looking to Sebastian.

Sebastian smiled and nodded. "There is a load of supplies heading to the tower in three days time. I will arrange for him to travel there and back with the teamsters."

Fenris nodded shortly. "Good. I will go back tomorrow and let him know."

"We'll be travelling as well, the day after tomorrow most likely, or the day after that if it rains. It is almost time for the planting festival," Sebastian informed him.

"Will we be going to the same place as last fall? Or do you go to a difference place in the spring?" Anders asked curiously.

"The same place. The Vaels have a special bond with that estate; it was ours even before we became the ruling family. And as many generations as we have been celebrating the festivals there, well, the tie is as much by blood as custom by now."

"Oh?" Anders asked curiously. "How so?"

Sebastian looked uncomfortable. Zevran looked up from his own plate, shooting the prince an amused look, and answered. "It is considered lucky to plant more than just the fields during spring festivals. There will be many young couples heading off to enjoy themselves in the darkness during the party at the end of the festival And similar activities are also common at the end of the harvest fest, since babies being born in the spring is also considered lucky. Doubtless there are a fair number of the villagers who are technically Sebastian's cousin in some degree. Or closer."

Sebastian coloured, but nodded. "Yes. You remember the old father?" he asked Anders. "His second wife was technically a great-aunt of mine, half-sister to my grandfather. The paternity is rarely that clear, of course; some of the women take advantage of the great license of the festival to enjoy themselves with more than one partner. Especially if they are proving barren with their current spouse."

Anders nodded; he'd heard of similar customs elsewhere. Discussion turned then to travel arrangements, revolving around how many days they'd likely be away, and what they should pack.

"I must definitely see about getting armour before we leave," Zevran said as the meal was ending. "At least something good enough to wear until I have a proper set is made."

Sebastian nodded in acknowledgement. "I will go write that introduction for you," he said, rising to his feet. "The man I am sending you to can likely recommended some good places to look for armour that has already been made up, though he himself does only custom work."

Zevran nodded, and thanked him again for the help.


	79. A Gift From The Heart

Zevran returned to his rooms feeling tired, but very pleased. The man Sebastian had sent him to see was a brilliant leather-worker, and with Starkhaven being so close to Antiva had proved familiar with the sort of little extras assassins favoured in the way of sheaths, hidden pockets, and so forth. They'd had a very lengthy and exacting discussion about just what exactly Zevran's personal requirements were. And, as Sebastian had promised, a letter of introduction from Prince Vael had moved Zevran's business to the top of the man's list of commissions, directly after the armour that the man was currently doing the finishing touches on.

He'd also, as Sebastian had suggested, been able to direct Zevran to someone who might have armour already made that would be suitable for the rogue to wear. Zevran had tried on several outfits before settling on one that was adequate for his purposes. After which he'd spent some time shopping for a few items of new clothing, again resorting mainly to things that were already made rather than having to wait. He'd gone through an awful lot of gold in the one day, but that was all right; he had several letters of credit squirrelled away in his belongings that he could redeem from any properly accredited moneylender. And of course the usual collection of small valuables picked up in the course of his travels that he could easily dispose of for ready cash if it proved necessary.

He'd put away the new clothing and was hanging his armour up on the stand in his room when he heard a knocking at the door.

"Yes?" he called, going out into the sitting room.

"It's me." Fenris' voice. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" He hurried across the room and unlocked the day, smiling as he saw that the warrior was again dressed in casual clothing; a loose tunic of Dalish make, dark brown with a pattern of leaves embroidered in shades of green around the neck and lower hem, with darker brown sueded leather leggings. To his surprise, the warrior was carrying a paper-wrapped parcel in one hand, and a small wooden crate tucked under his arm.

"What is this?" Zevran asked in puzzlement, looking questioningly at Fenris.

"I bought you something," the warrior said stiffly, looking uncertain. "Is that all right?"

"Gifts? For me? Truly?" Zevran asked, surprised, then smiled brilliantly at him. "It is better than all right. I am delighted – I did not expect any such thing. What have you brought me?" he asked.

Fenris handed him the paper-wrapped parcel, then carefully set down the crate on the table. "Open it and see," he said, almost shyly.

Zevran caught sight of the maker's mark burned into the wooden side of the crate and hastily set down the parcel. "It that..." he exclaimed, eyes widening, then produced a dagger and carefully used it to pry off the nailed-on top of the crate and peer into it. Inside, swaddled in straw, was a large flat-sided bottle of dark brown glass, the mouth sealed with blue wax, a small gilt medallion pressed into the wax over the cork. The assassin hissed through his teeth, then reverently lifted the bottle out of its nest. "By Andraste's sweet mouth!" he exclaimed softly. "Where did you _find_ this!"

Fenris smiled in pleasure at his reaction. "A shop in the city's upper market. It is the Antivan brandy you spoke of, is it not?"

Zevran was actually at a loss for words. He looked again at the bottle, caressing it appreciatively, then carefully returned it to the box before finally trying to answer Fenris' question. "My friend, this is to Antivan brandy as... as... as your Ari is to an ordinary guardsman's mount. This particular distillery produces only a very small output a year and very little of it is ever sold abroad. Are you truly sure you want to give me this? It must have cost a small fortune!"

Fenris shrugged. "No worse than the bottles of Aggregio Pavali I buy for myself."

"Aggregio...?" Zevran broke off, and shook his head, smiling. "You, my friend, have expensive tastes."

Fenris shrugged again. "It is what I like. I have little else to spend my money on."

Zevran remembered there was a second thing to open still, and picked it up. "And what is this?" he asked, grinning teasingly at Fenris. "A king's fortune in jewels?"

Fenris smiled in quiet amusement. "No."

Zevran put it down again, and cut the string holding the paper wrappings closed, then unfolded it. "Cookies?" he said, surprised.

"And some buns," Fenris said, gravely. "I thought they were very good."

Zevran smiled warmly at him. "We will sit and eat some of them. Though perhaps not with the brandy. I will put that aside for us to share on a special occasion. Tea?"

Fenris nodded. "They would go well with tea," he said agreeably.

Zevran was relieved that Fenris didn't seem to expect him to open the brandy right away. So fine a vintage deserved special treatment. He made tea for the both of them, and they sat down together on the couch. The baked items were delicious, and Zevran found himself having an enjoyable time just sitting there with the other elf, discussing the relative merits of the different varieties of cookie and some of the things Zevran had seen or done while shopping that afternoon.

After a while he noticed that Fenris was sneaking repeated glances at his arm where it hung in its sling. "Do you want to see it?" Zevran asked, lifting it a little and letting it drop. "I warn you, it is still rather ugly-looking; it will be a while until it regains condition."

Fenris gave him an inscrutable look. "Could I?" he asked hesitantly.

Zevran smiled, and for answer slipped off the sling, then carefully removed his own shirt. They both turned to face each other more directly. Fenris looked back and forth between the healthy right arm and the wizened-looking left, frowning slightly and looking unsettled. He started to reach out to touch it, then stopped. "May I?" he asked, darting a slightly worried look at Zevran.

"Of course," Zevran said agreeably.

Fenris carefully felt the arm and shoulder, gently fingering the slight thickening of the healed breaks in the long arm bone, and frowning over the arm's thinness. "Does it... hurt?" he asked worriedly.

"No. It is mostly healed now. It is uncomfortable if I try to move it too far, since it has been immobile for so many weeks, but it will improve with use."

Fenris nodded. He felt at the arm once more, then looked away. "I... don't like knowing that I hurt you," he said unhappily.

Zevran reached out and touched his arm lightly, making a point of using his left hand for it. "It was the proper thing to do at the time. Had it been I seeing you threatening a friend of mine, I would have done the same. And I am alive, and healing well."

Fenris nodded slowly, then picked up his mug again. Zevran pulled his shirt back on, sensing that the other elf was too unsettled at the moment for anything more interesting to happen.

They sat up until late, drinking tea and gradually eating all the cookies and buns, and talking. Fenris gradually relaxed enough again for them to exchange a few soft kisses before they finally called it a night. He was looking much happier when he left, smiling again as he wish Zevran a good-night and gave him a final kiss.

Zevran found himself smiling a lot as well as he closed the door and locked it, and cleaned up a little before going to bed. The Antivan brandy was an expensive gift, one which he greatly looked forward to sampling some day, yet he was certain that it was the memory of eating the cookies with Fenris that he would truly treasure. The brandy was a thoughtful gift, but the cookies... those had truly been a gift from the heart.


	80. Restless Sleep

It had been a good day for the trip out of the city to the estate, the sky blue and sunny with just a few high wisps of cloud, the countryside greening with the new growth of spring. They'd left the castle in the chill of early morning, along with a contingent of mounted guards, carriages full of the servants they were bringing along, and several waggon loads of supplies for their visit to the estate.

Sebastian rode alongside Anders, smiling to himself over the picture the mage presented, sitting his buckskin gelding Mab with his dogs trotting alongside and Ashes peering out of a padded bag slung across his chest. Fenris and Zevran followed behind them, Zevran riding one of a pair of bay geldings he'd been loaned for the trip. Sebastian had thought the assassin might need help mounting this morning, with his left arm still in a sling as it was, but he'd somehow sprang up into his saddle without any trouble, managing to make it look both effortless and graceful. He glanced back at the pair, smiling to see how pleased Fenris was looking, a shy smile crossing the elf's face for a moment as Zevran said something to him and then laughed.

They reached the estate in mid-afternoon. Of the four of them, Fenris was the only one not stiff from the ride, used as he was to a regular daily outing. Anders and Zevran were the worst off, neither having ridden recently at all, while Sebastian had at least been taking an occasional short ride to keep in shape over the winter.

Anders paced back and forth, working the soreness out of his legs, then paused near Sebastian, watching the servants climbing out of the carriages and beginning to unpack. "Does it really take that many servants to run this place?" he asked curiously, glancing at the oversized cottage that was the 'manor' for the estate.

Sebastian smiled. "No, of course not. I bring so many so they can visit with their families," he explained, nodding his head in the direction of the village. As in the fall, a large group of villagers could already been seen making their way from the village to the house.

Anders looked surprised. "The servants are from here then?"

Zevran, standing nearby, grinned and joined in on their conversation. "A fine tradition, I would assume, for the Vaels to hire on people they are certain have a more _personal_ loyalty to them than just whether or not they pay them."

Sebastian nodded agreement, looking beyond their group toward the approaching villagers. He frowned slightly and took a few steps toward them as the villagers crowded in through the gates. "The old father?" he asked questioningly, a note of worry in his voice.

One of the men stepped forward, dipping an awkward bow toward him. "He has taken to his bed, m'Lord," he said anxiously. "These two weeks gone. He is too ill to come and see you, but he sends his greetings."

"If he is too ill to come to me, than I will go to him," he said firmly, drawing a pleased murmuring from the villagers, and glanced towards Anders. "Come with me," he asked softly.

Anders nodded and quickly retrieved his medical kit from his saddlebags. To Sebastian's surprise, he then unslung Ashes' carrying bag from around his neck, and asked Fenris to look after the cat for him while he was away. Then they set out for the village, Anders' dogs and a group of the guards accompanying them, leaving the remaining guards and the servants to see to the unpacking and moving in.

The old father's house was the largest in the village, a rambling structure on the edge of town. One of the men – one of the old father's younger sons, Sebastian guessed – showed them into the house, and to the large warm bedroom where the old man lay in bed, propped up with pillows. Even from the door Sebastian could hear the rale in his chest, and see how much frailer he looked than he had the fall before.

His eyes opened as the old man became aware of their arrival, and he smiled warmly at the prince. "Boy," he said faintly. "You honour my house with your visit."

Sebastian smiled to hear himself referred to as 'boy' again by the venerable old man. "No, old father, you honour us," he said gravely. "I have brought my own healer to see if he can do anything to help you. Will you permit Anders to examine you?" he asked, gesturing the mage forward.

The old man peered short-sightedly at Anders, then smiled. "The mage from the harvest festival," he rasped, nodding. "I remember. You healed Lorin's foot, so he did not lose it. I have never been healed by a mage before," he added gravely, then nodded acceptance.

Anders moved to sit down on the edge of the old man's bed, feeling his pulse at several points and then leaning down to listen to the sound of his heart and breathing.

"Can you do anything to help him?" Sebastian asked quietly when he finally finished his examination.

"For now, yes," Anders said. "It will take some time." He turned and spoke politely to the old man. "I will do what I can so that you can breathe easily again, with your permission."

The old man nodded. One of his grand-daughters – the village mid-wife, the closest to a healer they had – stayed to help, and everyone else was shooed out of the room. Sebastian went back outside, and stood on the porch, bracketed by Ganwyn and Haelioni, talking to the villagers and hearing of all the village doings since his visit in the fall. Eventually the door to the house opened, and Anders came out. Everyone fell silent and looked worriedly at him.

"How is he?" Sebastian asked.

Anders smiled tiredly. "Much improved. He should be able to get out of his bed again after a good night's sleep."

An excited murmur passed through the waiting villagers, and many of their previously sombre faces broke out in wide smiles, the mood becoming much more festive. Sebastian smiled widely as well. "Do you need to rest now?" he asked, concerned by how exhausted Anders was looking. Anders nodded, and Sebastian swiftly made their excuses and led the way back toward the manor.

"How is he really?" he asked quietly as they walked.

"Good enough for now, as long as he doesn't get another bad cold too soon. I've cleaned out the liquid that was gathering in his lungs, and did what I could to heal and strengthen them. With luck he'll see another fall-fest. But another spring-fest beyond that? I don't know... he might surprise us all yet."

Sebastian nodded in acceptance. "I suppose none of us really know when we will die. And he's had a far longer run at it than most. Still... it will be the end of an age when he passes."

Anders nodded. They reached the manor then; Zevran and Fenris were sitting on a bench on the porch, Ashes sitting and purring between them while Zevran expertly scratched around his ears and jaw. Their luggage was piled underneath it, the pair talking quietly. They rose to their feet at the return of the two men.

"The servants are not sure where you meant us to be housed," Fenris said gravely to Sebastian.

Zevran smiled in amusement. "I assured them we were perfectly happy waiting for you to return and sort it out."

"Ah, right – I forgot to give orders on that before I went down to the village. My apologies," Sebastian said. "I hope the pair of you don't mind sharing? We are rather short on rooms here, I fear..."

Fenris' eyes flicked toward Zevran for a moment, who was looking off into the distance as if he wasn't part of the conversation. "We will share," he agreed slowly.

"Excellent! Bring your bags along, and I'll show you the room," Sebastian said, and led the way up to the second floor, where the few real bedrooms were. "Here, take this one," he offered, opening a door to show them a small room with two single beds in it, one against each wall.

Zevran smiled widely at him. "Many thanks, Prince Vael," he said, and he and Fenris carried their things in. Sebastian led Anders further down the hall. "I'm putting you in the same room you had last time," he told him, gesturing at the relevant door.

Anders walked in to the room, relieved to see all his things had already been brought upstairs and smiled tiredly at the prince. "I'm going to take a nap for a while," he said.

"I can send someone to wake you when it's time for the meal, if you aren't up again by then," Sebastian offered. "Or would you prefer I have a tray sent up?"

Anders smiled tiredly. "A tray, please – between the journey and the healing, I'm not going to be good for much before morning anyway."

Sebastian nodded. "All right," he agreed, straightening up from where he was leaning against the door frame. "See you later, Anders."

* * *

Zevran decided he liked Prince Vael very much. Not only did the man treat him – and Fenris – exactly as well as he would a human guest, but there was no flavour of him having to make any sort of purposeful effort to do so – he just _did_ it, as naturally as he breathed. He seemed to be one of those rare humans who regarded members of all races as thinking beings first and foremost, their actual race only of significance to him when it actually mattered.

And he hadn't failed to notice the twinkle in Sebastian's eyes as he'd shown them the room they could use; single beds, yes, but if some night while they were here those beds happened to get pushed together for a while, he did not believe the Prince would care. Would likely even silently approve, as long as it made his friend Fenris happy. Zevran didn't doubt that if Fenris had objected to them sharing, some other pair of rooms would have been offered to them instead of the one they were actually in. The prince was clearly a thoughtful and sneaky man; Zevran highly approved.

After he and Fenris had unpacked and put away their things, they went back downstairs and outside, Fenris leading the way to the stables first to check on his horses, after which they took a slow walk around the house, pausing to look off in various directions. It was mostly fields in every direction, except to the north-east, where a small cluster of stream-laced, forested hills they'd passed through on their way here lay, and the distance-blued crags of the Vimmark mountains to the south. Somewhere out of sight to the north was the Minanter, he knew.

There being little else to do, they went back indoors, and encountered Sebastian just coming down the stairs from the second floor. He invited them to join him, and the three of them spent an enjoyable time sitting out on the porch, drinking ale and talking about horses and weapons, until one of the servants came out to let them know dinner was ready.

Dinner was a very casual affair, the entire household – prince, guests, guards and servants – all eating together in the spacious dining hall at a pair of long tables, with no regard paid to precedence or any apparent order to the seating, other than Sebastian making sure to find three seats in a row so he could have his friends beside him.

After the meal Sebastian made his excuses, heading off to the kitchen to fetch a tray of food to bring up to Anders. Zevran was feeling tired enough himself by then to readily agree when Fenris suggested they retire early.

He could see that the warrior was uneasy once it was just the two of them alone in the room. "Let's sit and talk for a while before bed," he suggested, and there being no other seats available, sat down on his bed, back against the wall and legs stretched out before him. Fenris moved to take up a similar position on his own bed.

They tried talking for a little while, but it kept devolving into silences, Fenris too much on edge to carry on a conversation.

"You are uneasy about something," Zevran pointed out finally, deciding to cut to the heart of the matter. "Would you prefer if I ask Prince Vael if he can find some other place for me to sleep after all?"

"No. I... like having you here. I am just unused to sharing my sleeping quarters with anyone else. Apart from things like camping out when adventuring with Hawke, I have not slept near another in many years. The prospect is more daunting than I thought it would be."

Zevran nodded slowly. It did not need to be said that it had been no choice of Fenris' as to with whom he'd last shared a room – or a bed. "Is there anything I can do to make it _less_ daunting?" he asked, arching an eyebrow enquiringly, allowing only the barest hint of suggestion into his voice.

Fenris blushed, before smiling slightly. "Probably not," he said gravely. "I will just have to get used to it. We should change for bed," he added, and rose to his feet again, getting out his night clothes from where he'd earlier put them beneath his pillow. Zevran did the same, politely turning his back while they changed, though he itched to see what Fenris looked like nude. His mind insisted on supplying suggestions, based on what little he'd seen of the other elf so far; it obliged him to slip into bed as soon as he was in his night clothes, curling up on his side so his excitement wouldn't be obvious.

Fenris also climbed into his own bed, lying on his back with the sheets pulled neatly up to mid-chest, his arms stiffly straight on top of them, looking steadfastly up at the ceiling. Zevran wondered if he normally slept all stiff like a board, or if it was just another sign of his current unease. He smiled slightly, studying the other elf's handsome profile.

"Shall I blow out the candle?" he asked after a while.

Fenris finally turned his head and looked toward him. "No," he said very quietly. "Leave it for now."

He kept his head turned towards Zevran, silently studying his face. Zevran smiled back at him. "Well, I am going to sleep," he said. "Good-night, Fenris."

Fenris blinked, then nodded. "Good-night, Zevran," he said, and turned his head to stare up at the ceiling again.

Zevran slept poorly that night; not on his own behalf, but because he was by nature a very light sleeper. Every time Fenris changed position – and he was being a very restless sleeper that night – it woke Zevran, at least for long enough to identify what was making a noise in their room.


	81. Unguarded Talk

Anders woke on his own, quite early, having slept himself out. He stretched luxuriously, ignoring Ashes' mild complaint as his movements disturbed the cat's rest, then sat up in bed. There was still an apple left on the tray on the low table beside his bed, and he reached out and picked it up to make a token start on filling the emptiness of his stomach. The apple was mealy from long storage, but still tasty, and he ate it quickly, soon dropping the well-gnawed core on the tray and licking his fingers clean.

He wondered who had brought in the tray; whomever it was had been very soft-footed, either that or he'd been very deeply asleep, since it hadn't been until late evening when his growling stomach and importunate bladder had woken him that he'd found it waiting for him. He'd taken care of the latter, then filled the former and gone right back to sleep. He guessed it must have been Sebastian who brought the tray, or perhaps Fenris, since the dogs had not objected to whomever it had been.

Speaking of the dogs, he'd better get up and take them for a walk, he realized, interpreting the looks the two were giving him from where they lay on the floor beside the bed. He quickly cleaned and shaved using the water in a pitcher waiting on the washstand under the window, then dressed warmly. He headed out of the house, Ashes ahead-behinding around his feet and the dogs at his heels.

He'd take a real walk, he decided, looking up at the slowly lightening sky as his feline and canine companions took care of necessary business. Hopefully it would be time for breakfast when he returned, and in the meantime he at least had some hard biscuits and jerky from his pack to gnaw on and share with the dogs.

Anders set off back up the road they'd come in by the day before, proceeding at a slow stroll so the dogs could romp around investigating the hedgerows that lined it, and Ashes could keep up. He sped up his pace once Ashes decided he wanted to carried for a while. Anders watched the beautiful colours of the sky and clouds changing in the east as he walked, until the sky had brightened to blue and the clouds to white. He was at least a couple of miles away from the manor before finally deciding he should turn around.

He hadn't been very long on his way back when he heard hoof-beats on the road behind him. Ganwyn barked happily and darted off, and he turned to see Fenris overtaking him, riding Ari. He raised his hand in greeting as the elf rode up to him and reined to a stop.

"Mage," Fenris said, sliding easily down out of the saddle.

"Warrior," Anders acknowledged, and they both smiled briefly at each other in amusement. "Fine morning for a ride," he said, resuming his walk toward the distant manor, Fenris falling in beside him, leading his horse by the reins.

Fenris nodded solemnly. "Indeed. And equally good for a walk, I take it?"

Anders nodded agreement. They walked in silence for a little while.

"Anders... could I talk to you for a while?" Fenris abruptly asked.

"Of course. What about?"

Fenris slowed, then stopped. He looked nervous, Anders noted, and made a guess based on Fenris' previous conversation with him. "Something to do with Zevran?" he hazarded, coming to a stop as well.

Fenris nodded, and flushed. "I am... confused," he confessed, and hesitated again before continuing, blushing with embarrassment. "I do not know what is... normal... between men, and was hoping you could advise me."

Anders nodded in understanding. He had a feeling this was going to be a lengthy conversation. He looked around, then moved to sit down on the grassy verge between the road and the hedgerow, gesturing for Fenris to join him. The elf walked over, hitching Ari's reins to the bushes before sitting down stiffly on the grass beside him.

"Zevran hasn't done anything you dislike, has he?" Anders asked first of all, a bit worried.

"No," Fenris said, and blushed again. "Rather the opposite, if anything."

Anders was relieved – he didn't think Zevran was the sort to push a partner to anything they didn't want, but he also suspected Fenris wouldn't be particularly articulate at expressing his wants, either. "All right. What are you wanting to know?" he asked curiously.

Fenris flushed again, and looking away. "I am not entirely inexperienced when it comes to sex, but in the past it was always something forced on me. I am... confused. I don't know how much of what was done to me in the past is normal between two men, and what isn't."

Anders nodded slowly. "Probably a lot of what was done to you is 'normal' in one sense," he said slowly, thinking out his answer. "If you'd like, I can describe for you some of the more common ways in which different body parts can be brought together to produce pleasure, which probably covers quite a lot of what I would guess was done to you. All are arguably 'normal'. I think the part of it that may be confusing you is not so much the basics of the physical acts themselves, but... how they made you feel."

Anders frowned in thought a moment, then continued. "Ultimately, the real difference in feeling tends to lie in the _intent_ behind the act, not the act itself, not even whether it hurts or not, nor in whether it brings you pleasure or not. The _true_ difference lies in whether it is something forced on you against your choice, or is something done for pleasure – yourself, another's, or mutual – with agreement but without necessarily having any real emotional involvement with the other person, or is something you are doing with someone you care greatly for, who cares for you as well. In their most simplistic senses, we can refer to these as being raped, having sex, or making love. What you experienced in the past was rape. What you want to do now, with Zevran, is to have sex, or possibly even to make love."

Fenris slowly nodded, looking faintly relieved. "So if there is something that was..." he paused, and swallowed, looking uneasy, before forcing himself to continue. "Something that was done to me in the past, and I am curious about what that would be like with Zevran..." he halted again, unable to continue.

"Than it's not anything _abnormal_ you're thinking," Anders reassured him very softly. "Because the act that was something terrible when it was forced on you, will be a very different experience when done willingly with someone you like. Far more likely to be pleasurable, both physically and mentally, for one."

"Like kissing," Fenris said very quietly. "I like it when Zevran kisses me. I never knew before that it could be so pleasing an experience."

Anders smiled. "Exactly. Because he is kissing you to give you pleasure or to share pleasure with you, not just to take his own pleasure from you, so how he kisses you and how you feel about him kissing you are entirely different than it was in the past. The same will hold true for other acts. Now, would you like a description of some of the more common physical acts, and the rude and polite terms for them? You may find it makes it easier for you to consider what it is you would like to do with Zevran, if you have a less fraught idea of what _can_ be done."

"Please," Fenris said, looking apprehensive, but also at least a little curious.

It took a good while to describe, starting with the basics of kissing, touching and rubbing, and working his way up to more penetrative acts. By the time he finished the sun was a fair bit up the sky. Ashes was purring in Fenris' arms, Anders having passed over the cat and insisted Fenris hold and pet him when the elf started looking distressed partway into the discussion. He was still looking a little pale, some of the descriptions having obviously woken unpleasant memories, but also much more relaxed than he'd been initially.

"Thank you," Fenris said gravely. "That does help."

Anders nodded. "Good. Feel free to ask me again if there's something else you need to know about," he said. "We should get back to the manor, breakfast should be ready by now, and the others will be wondering where we are." He rose to his feet, whistling for the dogs.

Fenris rose as well. It wasn't until he turned to untie Ari's reins that he realized he was still holding Ashes, looking down at the cat in surprise for a moment before passing him back to Anders. "I will walk with you," Fenris offered.

It was a quiet walk, Fenris obviously lost in thought as he digested everything Anders had told him. Anders found himself thinking too – he'd only just realized, when he spoke of the others wondering where they were, that there hadn't been any guards on his door when he came out of his room, and that he'd actually walked off from the manor without any showing up to follow him, either.

He wondered if it had merely been an oversight on someone's part, or had some other meaning.

* * *

Sebastian was relieved when he received word from one of his guards that Anders had returned, in company with Fenris, apparently having taken an early-morning walk with his dogs. He hadn't realized that Anders was missing until all four guards had shown up for breakfast, the two pairs equally surprised to see each other there with no sign of their charge. A foul-up in communications after their arrival yesterday, it seemed, when Sebastian and Anders had left the manor while the majority of the guards were busy helping with the unloading and moving in. Between Anders retiring to bed early and his guard pairs having been assigned to two different rooms for sleeping, the mix-up over who should have guarding him overnight and this morning hadn't been discovered any earlier.

He headed went back to the dining hall, where he found Anders and Fenris seated together and eating, the mage already making serious inroads on a sizable breakfast, a pair of his guards standing at the door looking vaguely embarrassed.

Anders looked up and smiled as Sebastian walked over to join him and Fenris. "Sorry for causing any worry, I didn't even notice the absence of the guards until we were already on our way back anyway," the mage said cheerfully.

Sebastian nodded greetings to the pair of them as he sat down, and poured himself a mug of tea. "I am relieved you're all right. I didn't worry that you might be trying to run off, but I did worry a little about your safety."

Anders grunted. "I _can_ look after myself if I have to, you know," he said, making a vaguely arcane gesture with his fingers. "And I had the dogs with me. And Fenris, thought admittedly not the whole time."

Sebastian smiled, and sipped his tea. "Aye, but I did promise Soria I would keep you safe. Having a pair of guards handy to keep random riff-raff from way-laying you in the road reassures _me_."

"Do you have riff-raff around, then?" Anders asked, heaping two large spoonfuls of marmalade on a slice of toast before taking an enormous bite out of it.

"There is _always_ riff-raff around," Zevran said, having come into the room as well. He walked over and took a seat next to Fenris, smiling cheerfully at all of them. "Random travellers or low morals who'll engage in a bit of thievery if they see a chance, organized groups of bandits, the desperate poor..."

"Thankfully we are fairly short on those in Starkhaven," Sebastian said. "To have none at all would be best, of course, but we live in an imperfect world."

"I was wondering, what does this planting festival involve?" Fenris asked curiously, looking up from his plate.

"Ah, well, planting the fields will be the biggest activity," Sebastian said, turning to him. "It starts tomorrow morning with the Women's Day, followed by two or three days of planting, and then there'll be a party. Actual planting will not end for some weeks, as some crops will not go into the ground until later in the growing season, but the majority of the grain fields and similar large-scale crops are planted during this time."

"Women's Day?" Anders asked curiously.

"The women spend the morning doing a ceremony in the fields, that only they take part in, and then plant some certain number of them by themselves in the afternoon. The men stay home for the day and cook a great feast for everyone," Zevran spoke up. "The ceremony involves invoking fertility for the fields, and the main participants will be all the young girls who have begun their courses since the previous spring. It is held to be very bad luck for a man to witness the ceremony, accidentally or intentionally."

Sebastian nodded. "In older, bloodier times it was worse than just bad luck – any man caught spying on the ceremony would be killed by the women. The penalty is no longer applied, of course, but all the men will remain indoors from an hour before dawn until after noon tomorrow anyway, except in direst emergency."

He grinned. "Though it is no hardship, the cooking is great fun. All the men gather together in the best kitchens in the village, except for a few making things by secret family recipes that are passed down from father to sons, and a great deal of cooking and talking and drinking goes on. And then at the end of the day the women return from the fields, and there is a feast for all in the village square."

"So we'll have to... make things tomorrow?" Anders asked apprehensively. He could make a few simple things for himself, like porridge – though it tended to be lumpy – or fry bacon or an egg, or melt some cheese on toast, but he knew he wasn't a real cook by any stretch of the imagination.

"Or serve as scullion to those who are, yes," Sebastian agreed, smiling at the apprehensive look on the mage's face. "We'll have a good part of the village men showing up here tomorrow morning, well before dawn – this house has one of the best kitchens, of course. There will be a lot of traffic this afternoon as supplies are brought, so that everyone cooking has on hand what he'll need for his contribution."

Zevran was grinning. "It is indeed fun. Perhaps I'll make something... I know a few of the traditional recipes."

"I will serve as scullion, I suppose," Fenris said calmly as he pushed away his empty plate. "Since I do not know how to cook."

"Guess I will as well," Anders agreed. "Right now I believe I'll walk down to the village and check on the old father, and see if anyone else needs a healer."

Sebastian nodded. "A good idea. See you all later – I have some things to take care of that will keep me occupied much of the day, unfortunately."


	82. Women's Day

Anders made sure to wake long enough before dawn that he could take the dogs and cat outside briefly, first changing into the outfit that Sebastian had provided for the day, a simple tunic of unbleached cotton and leggings of buff-coloured leather. Everyone would be dressed the same, he was told, it being a day on which rank and decoration had no place.

Fenris and Zevran were certainly wearing the same outfit he saw, spotting the elves walking back from the stables as he waited for the dogs to finish their running around. "Don't tell me you've been for a nighttime ride?" he asked, surprised.

Fenris smiled briefly. "No. But I did want to at least visit the horses before we're shut in for the morning," he explained gravely.

"And I thought I might as well stretch my legs as well," Zevran said agreeably.

The dogs having finally come back, they went back inside together, where they found the dining hall already filling up as people had a hasty early breakfast. The female servants and a handful of female guards were already gathering in one corner of the room, preparing to set off down to the village and take part in the festivities. Like the men, they were all dressed alike as well, though with long split skirts instead of leggings.

They saw Sebastian standing near the large fireplace to one side of the room, talking animatedly with some of the men. He waved them over, smiling and saying a final few words to the group he'd been talking with. The four of them quickly found seats together, and ate their breakfast of porridge, sausages and strong honey-sweetened tea. By the time they were done, the women had left, and men from the village had begun arriving, mainly in ones and twos.

Sebastian smiled in obvious pleasure and shot to his feet when he saw a larger group walk in, two of them carrying the old father. He quickly saw the old man set in a chair near the fire, and brought him a mug of tea himself.

"I am glad you could join us today," he told the old man, smiling welcoming at him.

The old man nodded, taking a sip of the tea before smiling and nodding back at him. "I am glad to be here as well," he said gravely. "I had begun to think I would have to miss it this year."

Having finished eating enough breakfast, Anders rose and went over to greet the old man as well, Fenris and Zevran trailing along behind. The old father nodded in pleased greeting to him, then looked beyond him at Fenris and Zevran. "And who is this?" he asked curiously.

"Allow me to introduce them, old father," Sebastian said, gesturing them closer. "This is Fenris, a very fine warrior. He and I became good friends while I was away from home, and he is here as my guest and trusted companion. And this is Zevran Arainai, once of Antiva and now of Ferelden, a friend of Anders, and also here as my guest."

The old man nodded greeting to them as well. "I am pleased to meet any friend of the boy's," he said gravely to Fenris, then looked Zevran over, eyeing his tattooed face and the way he stood. " _Un cuervo?_ " he asked suspiciously.

Zevran grinned broadly. "Yes. More correctly, an ex-Crow, though they have been trying for some time now to make it merely _ex_."

The old man snorted. "Enjoy your stay in our village," he bade him. " _Que sea pacífica_."

Zevran's grin broadened. " _I_ certainly have no plans otherwise."

"Good. See it remains that way," the old man said, then looked back to Sebastian. "You have eaten already? Then we should proceed to the kitchens."

"Yes, old father," Sebastian agreed humbly. Several of the villagers carried the old man off into the kitchen, chair and all, the rest of the men following behind. He was soon settled in a warm corner near one of the hearths, where he could oversee work at a nearby table, where several of his sons, grandsons, and a great-grandson stood ready to assist. Everyone else spread out through the kitchen as well, finding places to work on their different dishes, gathering together the ingredients they'd brought.

Anders found himself on a stool at one end of a long worktable, working with Sebastian. He was given a large sack of onions and told to peel and coarsely chop them, while Sebastian rolled up his sleeves and started measuring ingredients for some kind of bread into a huge ceramic bowl.

Further down the table Zevran was in intense discussion with a group of village men, Fenris standing at his elbow and looking a little lost in the busy kitchen. There was a burst of laughter from the men after a few minutes, and several patted Zevran approvingly on the shoulder before scattering off to their own places along the table. Zevran walked over to claim a space across the broad table from Sebastian, looking pleased with himself.

Sebastian looked up from his dough-making. He'd washed and oiled his hand and forearms, and was now up to his elbows in flour as he mixed together his wet and dry ingredients. "I take it you've found something to make?" he asked.

Zevran smiled. "Yes. I know one of the traditional recipes that the men here do not, so I will make _triochr gwcis_ , or _tres lados galletas_ as we would call them in Antiva."

Sebastian frowned in thought for a moment. "Three fold cookies?" he asked, puzzled.

Zevran grinned. "Yes. You will see."

Several of the younger boys in the room had apparently been told off to help people gather ingredients; Zevran soon had several of them running off in search of things for him.

"What should I do?" Fenris asked uneasily, standing at the table between Zevran and Anders.

"I will need your help in a while, but not right away," Zevran said.

"I could use more help for now," Sebastian suggested. "I have more ingredients that need chopping."

Fenris nodded agreement, and Sebastian commandeered one of Zevran's young runners, sending him off to fetch long coils of smoked venison sausage from the storeroom. They needed to be cut into thin slices, he explained to Fenris, and the elf was soon perched on a stool, a cutting board and a large bowl before him, slicing up the sausages and tossing the slices into the bowl. Meanwhile Zevran set to work making a short pastry of flour, butter, eggs, and beet sugar.

The kitchen was soon full of good smells, as long-cooking dishes or things that could be served cold began to go over the fires or into the capacious ovens to cook; pots of stew, crocks of beans, breads and cakes and pies of all description. It was also loud with the sound of all the men talking and joking as they worked on their contributions for the feast, some sitting on benches and chairs around the edge of the kitchen as they waited to start work, or took a rest after finishing some stage of it.

Once Sebastian had finished mixing his dough and had put it aside to rise for a while, he joined Anders in chopping up the onions, then they both helped Fenris finish off the sausages.

Zevran's dough was ready by then, so they moved aside the bowls mounded with chopped onions and sliced sausage, cleaned and floured the surface of the table, and then set to work in helping him to shape his cookies. The dough had to be rolled out thin, and cut in circles, which Anders and Sebastian took care of. Then a small amount of jam would be put in the centre of each round – that job was given to Fenris – after which the sides of the circle were folded over to make a little three-cornered shape around the filling, and the folded cookie gently transferred to a baking sheet. Zevran did that part himself, nimble fingers dealing with the rounds as fast as Fenris could spoon jam onto them. Runners took the trays off to the ovens as they filled, and the first cookies were already out and cooling long before they finished shaping the last of the dough.

They took a break then, sitting on a bench near the door, eating thick slices of buttered bread and wedges of firm cheese, and washing it down with good ale.

"Quiet, quiet!" the old father suddenly called out. "Listen – the women are near."

The sounds in the kitchen faded away, all talking coming to an abrupt stop and everyone either stopping work or, if they were at a stage where they could not, working as quietly as possible. Singing could be heard from somewhere outside, as the women did their ceremony in one of the nearer fields. It was a beautiful song, joyous in sound though the actual words could not be made out. After a while the song ended, voices fading away. The old father clapped his hands. "Enough! Back to work!" he ordered, and conversations resumed again, though at a considerably subdued level for a while.

Sebastian's group returned to their table, and set to work cracking enormous quantities of fresh eggs, which were then beaten together with salt, pepper, and soft crumbly goat's milk cheese. Once that was ready, they set to work helping Sebastian assemble all his ingredients. The dough was rolled and stretched to make a large thin rectangular sheet, a quantity of the thick egg-and-cheese mixture spread over it, then the chopped onions and sliced sausage scattered over top of that, after which it was carefully rolled to form a large, lumpy log of dough and put aside to rise again. Altogether Sebastian had made enough dough to make four such logs, the outsides of which he brushed with melted butter and sprinkled with coarse salt before they finally went into the ovens to bake.

Then they took another break. It was past noon now, so they could go outside if they wished; Anders hurried upstairs and fetched his pets so they could run around in the yard for a while, then the four of them claimed seats along the edge of the porch. More ale was making the rounds, as well as more bread and cheese to keep people fed until the feast later. A long row of women could be seen at work in one of the fields nearby, scattering seed as they walked along the furrows, talking and laughing as they worked.

They went back indoors again after a while, to help out more in the kitchen. Anders found himself cleaning an enormous mound of fiddleheads, picked fresh the day before, alongside Fenris, while Sebastian cut off the thick ugly peel of several large roots of celeriac and Zevran cut them apart into manageable chunks and passed them off to another man, busily shredding them into a bowl with a rather dangerous looking many-bladed contraption – to make a salad, they were told, greens being largely unavailable at this time of year.

In late afternoon everything begun being transported down to the village, where a pair of enormously long tables had been set up to hold all the food, and many smaller ones for people to eat at. There was more food than would actually be eaten tonight; Sebastian explained that they'd be eating the leftovers for the remainder of the planting, leaving all the men and women free to work in the fields.

"It also finishes off much of whatever foodstuffs are left in storage from the year before – things like root vegetables, potatoes, onions and so on," he further explained. "There'll be a couple of lean weeks afterwards until more of the fresh food begins coming in, and then they'll be eating well for much of the remainder of the spring, through the summer and early fall."

As the sun began to set the women returned from the fields at last, all of them gathered together and singing, looking tired and in some cases a little sun-burnt from the long day of work, but all of them happy. They marched into the village square in a long line, led by a cluster of young girls who all wore crowns of dried wheat heads and early spring flowers, wearing bright red sashes over their knee-length white dresses – they were the only females not wearing the long split skirts. The song ended, and the women broke up, moving off to join their families, a great cacophony of voices rising up as, it seemed, everyone began talking at once.

Torches and lanterns were lit around the edges of the square, and candles at each table, as darkness fell. Everyone began working their way along the long buffet tables, filling their plates with food, then finding tables to sit and eat at.

Anders tried everything he'd helped make first of all – a slice of Sebastian's savoury filled bread, steamed buttered fiddleheads with toasted sunflower seeds, some of the celeriac salad which now included slivers of hard salty cheese and chopped walnuts, and had been tossed with a creamy slightly sour dressing, and a couple of Zevran's cookies. He also tried bits of all sorts of other dishes, happily going back to reload his plate several times. The village men smiled and laughed and seemed quite pleased by his enormous appetite for their cooking.

The feast lasted until late into the evening, the leftover food being carried off for storage in the village ice-house once people had finished eating, then it was time to head off to bed. Everyone would be up early again the next day to work on seeding the fields and gardens, except for those too old or too young or too sick to undertake the labour; this year, thanks to Anders' help, there were very few people in the latter category.

It was a pleasant walk back to the manor, Sebastian and his friends surrounded by a tired, happy crowd of their guards and the servants, some of them carrying torches or lanterns to light the way.

"I'm going to check on my horses before bed," Fenris said once they reached the manor, and headed off to the barn, Zevran accompanying him.

"I should let the dogs and cat out again," Anders said.

Sebastian nodded. "I think I'll sit on the porch for a while," he said, moving off to sit on a bench nearby.

He was still there when Anders came back out with his pets. He walked over and sat down near him, the pair enjoying a companionable silence.

"So, how do you like the spring festival so far?" Sebastian asked after a while.

"It's good. I never knew you were so adept in the kitchen."

Sebastian grinned, folding his arms across his chest. "I've always liked kitchens. They tend to be warm and filled with good smells. And I always had a gift for charming sweets from the kitchen help when I was younger."

Anders snorted. "And when you were older?" he asked, grinning.

Sebastian's grin widened. "I still charmed the kitchen help, of course, though for sweet kisses more than sweet confections. In the chantry I did my turns helping out in the kitchen; I make a fine scullion, and can turn my hand to most basic cookery, in addition to the few festival dishes I learned how to make as a lad."

"More than I know how to do," Anders said. "I think I'm just barely adequate as a scullion, as long as the task is a simple one."

Sebastian laughed, then rose to his feet. "You did well enough today. It's never too late to learn, if you decide you wish to," he pointed out. "Well. I should go to bed."

Anders nodded. He rose and whistled for the dogs, and went in as well, trailing along behind Sebastian. They parted in the hallway upstairs, with nothing more than a soft "Good night" and a long look from each of them.


	83. Fresh Straw

Zevran leaned his sound arm on the top of the door to the stall, watching Fenris murmuring to his horse. He smiled at the picture they presented, horse and elf standing with faces just inches apart, the warrior stroking his right hand affectionately down the side of the horse's neck, his left hand resting on its cheek. Finally he patted the horse's neck and turned away, flushing as he met Zevran's eyes.

"Sorry," the warrior said, looking uneasy.

"What for? It is a charming sight, you with your horses. I can tell Ari likes you just as much as you like him," Zevran said.

Fenris shifted his weight from one foot to another, obviously thinking, then stepped closer to the door, reaching out to rest his hand near where Zevran's arm was resting on the top edge. He met Zevran's eyes for a moment, then looked away again, his flush deepening.

Zevran moved his arm off the top of the door and brought his hand to rest beside Fenris', and looked questioningly at the other elf. "Perhaps you worry that I might be jealous that you touch your horses so easily, but not me?" he suggested. Fenris hesitated, then nodded, still looking away. Zevran smiled, and reached out, lightly touching two fingertips to Fenris' chin and turning his head back to face him. "I am _not_ jealous of a _horse_ ," he said softly, before slowly leaning forward and kissing the other man.

Fenris stiffened for a moment, then moved closer, pressing up against the door from the inside, his hand rising to cup tentatively around the back of Zevran's neck, fingers lacing into his hair, his other hand coming to rest on Zevran's shoulder. Zevran made an approving sound, his own hand sliding back from Fenris' chin to a similar position on the back of his head as well, as he deepened the kiss, winning a low moan from Fenris.

The warrior was panting for breath when he finally released him, eyes dark with desire. Zevran unlatched the door, and held it open enough for Fenris to step out, then closed it again and stepped close to him. "Do you _want_ to touch me?" he asked, voice a low purr.

Fenris nodded, looking nervous.

Zevran smiled reassuringly at him, and glanced around. The stall next to Ari's was empty, save for a thick bedding of fresh straw on the floor. "Come with me," he said, then picked up a saddle blanket from a nearby pile of them – there was no separate tack room here, gear instead being hung on pegs, stored on shelves or placed in chests along the wall opposite the stalls – and walked over to the stall, opening the door and walking in. He kicked the straw together into a deeper pile along one side of the stall, then spread the blanket out over top of it and looked at Fenris, who was standing at the door of the stall, watching him uneasily.

He slipped off his sling, dropping it to the floor, then peeled out of his tunic, dropping it as well, looking challengingly at Fenris as he did so. It was only as he reached for the laces to his breeches that Fenris finally moved, straightening up. "No," he said quietly.

Zevran looked at him questioningly. "No?" he asked.

Fenris swallowed, then stepped into the stall, pulling the door closed behind him. "Later. May I..." he trailed off, already stepping forward, left hand tentatively raised toward Zevran, coming to a stop while still a couple of steps away.

"Touch whatever you want," Zevran said, softly.

Fenris slowly took the final step forward, moving close enough to rest his hand against Zevran's chest. He stood still for a long moment, just looking at his own hand resting there, before slowly raising his other hand as well. He lightly touched it to the tattoos on the side of Zevran's face, then moved a little closer, slowly leaning down to kiss the assassin.

It was a lovely kiss, Zevran thought, gentle and tentative, repeated soft brushings of lips. He smiled warmly at Fenris after it ended, and stood waiting to see what else the other elf would do, now that he'd apparently decided that it was allowable to do _something_.

Fenris spent several minutes just lightly touching Zevran and looking at him. He seemed especially interested in the curving tattoos that wrapped around and down the elf's torso, moving around him to trace their festooned path with his fingertips, sometimes pausing to trace individual shapes. "Do these mean something? What are they _for?_ " he asked after a while, sounding puzzled.

"Many of them have meaning, yes," Zevran explained, looking back over his shoulder at him. "Mainly they are meant to be decorative, but among the Crows there are ones that have specific meanings, and I also have long made a habit of adding tattoos to mark events that are significant to me."

Fenris frowned, pacing a bit further around Zevran, looking down to watch his hand as it traced one curving line of tattoos down Zevran's hip to where they disappeared under his waistband. "Such as?" he asked curiously at last, glancing up again.

"Well. Such as this one," Zevran said, twisting to indicate one that was set aside from the main group of them, crossing his lower back. "If you touch it, you can feel that it covers a scar... that is where the Archdemon clawed me, when we fought it on the roof of Fort Drakon. I was lucky, it was just a glancing blow with the very tip of a single claw, otherwise it might have torn me in two."

Fenris moved back around, feeling the indicated tattoo, then nodded slowly. "I see," he said. He left his hand there for a moment, pressing warmly against Zevran's lower back, while his other hand rose to lightly stroke down the side of the wasted arm. "Does it hurt?" he asked, voice low.

"The scar, or the arm? The scar sometimes itches in very hot or very cold weather, The arm is aching a little right now; I used it too much in the kitchens earlier today."

Fenris nodded, then leaned forward and lightly kissed Zevran's left shoulder, ghosting a trail of kisses from there to the side of his neck. Zevran made another approving sound, tilting his head to the side to give the taller elf better access. He could hear how Fenris' breathing became deeper and a little faster as he proceeded, and when Zevran let himself sway backwards against him, he was not surprised to feel that the warrior was becoming noticeably aroused. Fenris paused for a moment when he did, before he resumed his kissing, hands coming up to rest on Zevran's shoulders as he made brief warm touches of lips to skin, working his way up the side of Zevran's neck until he reached his ear. He paused again, breath gusting quietly in and out of his nose for several breaths, then slowly licked up the curve of the assassin's ear.

Zevran was beginning to feel more than a little aroused himself, from the light teasing kisses and the close warmth of the other man's body. He drew in a hissing breath as Fenris licked and nibbled at his ear, eyes dropping half-shut in pleasure. "May I touch, too?" he finally asked, voice low and hoarse.

Fenris paused, then nodded. "Yes," he whispered, voice equally hoarse.

Zevran slowly turned to face him, Fenris lifting his hands then setting them down on his shoulders again as he did so. He brought his own hands up to rest on Fenris' narrow hips, then slowly slid them up under his tunic, feeling warm skin and the cool raised lines of his tattoos sliding under them. Fenris stood very still at first, then sighed in pleasure and leaned into his touch, his own hands moving to slide down Zevran's back, drawing him closer. The warrior ran his hands up and down Zevran's back for a little while, exploring the warm skin, the shapes of the muscles under it, the hard knobs of his spine, while Zevran let his own hands makes similar explorations beneath the loose tunic Finally Fenris' hands slid lower yet, not stopping until they encountered the waistband of Zevran's leggings. He went very still again, only his fingertips moving as they brushed against the edge of the cloth.

Zevran tilted back his own head to look up at the warrior. Fenris' eyes were half-closed, his expression contemplative. He looked a little uncertain. Zevran removed his hands from beneath Fenris's tunic, and tugged gently on its hem. "Shall we remove this?" he asked quietly.

A hesitation. A nod. Fenris released Zevran, moving back a step, and stripped off the tunic himself, dropping it to the floor beside Zevran's, not even hesitating before he began to unlace his own breeches. Zevran immediately began to undo his own as well, both of them watching the other as they stripped out of leggings – Zevran also having to kick off his boots and peel off his socks – until they stood before each other in just small clothes. Zevran stood very still, watching the warrior to see how he'd react now.

Fenris looked at Zevran, running his eyes slowly over him from head to foot and back up again, his cheeks flushing and breath shortening. His eyes were almost entirely black now. Zevran, meanwhile, made a similar examination of the other man. He longed to touch that beautiful lean form before him, to trace every line of Fenris' tattoos with touch or tongue. He knew his erection was hardening with visible speed, and was pleased to see that the warrior was undergoing a similar reaction.

"What are you thinking about?" Zevran finally asked, softly.

Fenris swallowed several times before finally answering. "That I want to touch you."

Zevran grinned. "I was thinking the very same thing. How convenient." He remained still, leaving it to Fenris to initiate any further action.

Finally the warrior drew in a very deep breath, and removed his smallclothes, his erection springing upright as it was released from the constraining cloth. Zevran silently mirrored his actions.

"I don't know what to do next," Fenris said after a moment. Then confessed in a very small voice, "I am frightened."

Zevran nodded, then moved to stretch out on the blanket-covered straw. He patted the space beside him, and after another long hesitation, Fenris moved to lie down beside him, looking both shy and hopeful at the same time.

"Will you trust me to guide you?" Zevran asked softly.

Fenris nodded silently, looking almost pleadingly at Zevran. His erection had flagged in his worry, but wasn't gone entirely.

"We will begin touching each other again," Zevran explained quietly. "I will touch you, and you will touch me the same way, all right?"

Fenris nodded, looking relieved. Zevran turned over on his right side, so he was facing Fenris, waiting while the warrior made as similar adjustment onto his left, then reached out and set his hand on Fenris' hip. He proceeded slowly after that, with gentle touching and stroking, exploring Fenris' reactions to his touch, waiting while the warrior grew used to what they were doing, his earlier arousal returning and slowly overcoming his fright. The only sounds were their increasingly harsh breathing, the few noises the horses made as they moved around in their stalls.

Only once he was sure Fenris was past the worst of his fright did he let his hand finally drift down to lightly caress the other elf's erection. Fenris didn't hesitate before mirroring his action, and Zevran smiled approvingly at him. Ignoring – as much as he could, anyway – the sensation of Fenris mirroring his own touches, he began to seek the other elf's pleasure, seeing what touches and strokes excited him most. It wasn't long before Fenris began to be so lost in his own sensations that his hand dropped away, unable to keep up his side of things. Zevran gently guided him onto his back, sitting up himself so that he could bring both hands into play. A short while later Fenris cried out, hands knotted in the blankets and back arching as he came.

Zevran moved closer and lay down again, gently pulling Fenris into an embrace as the warrior slumped in exhaustion. Fenris lay still for a long moment, face buried against Zevran's neck as he caught his breath, then he shifted, pushing away from Zevran. The assassin quickly let him go, looking at him in concern, worried he'd upset the warrior by holding him, but Fenris didn't look upset. Instead he was looking at Zevran, down at his flagging erection.

"You didn't..." Fenris said hesitantly, voice low, then set his hand lightly on Zevran's chest, looking questioningly at him.

"I wanted to be sure you did," Zevran explained softly.

Fenris looked at him silently for a long moment, then blushed and nodded. "My turn then," he said with surprising assurance, and pushed gently on Zevran's chest. "Lie back."

Curious as to what the warrior intended to do, Zevran did as told. Fenris glanced uncertainly down at him, then shifted position, before reaching down and taking it into his hand. He hesitantly began to repeat some of the things they'd been doing to each other before, chewing nervously on his lower lip and stealing sideways glances at Zevran. It felt very good, now that Zevran could allow himself to focus on it, and he happily gave himself up to the sensation, making encouraging sounds whenever Fenris did something he particularly liked. Fenris moved with increasing assurance as he watched Zevran reacting to his touches.

Zevran let his eyes close, head arching back as he thrust into the warm circle of Fenris' hands. He was aware of the warrior shifting position again, and then his eyes flew open in shock as hot wetness unexpectedly closed around his tip. He froze a moment, staring in surprise down the length of his body to where Fenris was sucking gently on him, the other elf looking back up at him with a faintly worried expression. Fenris' hand tightened on him, stroking again, and he cried out in pleasure as he, too, came.

Fenris made a face and sat up, spitting into the straw then scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked a little upset. "Was that... was that the right thing to do?" Fenris asked worriedly.

Zevran grinned and sat up, wishing he dared hug him close, and settling for taking him by the hands and squeezing them. "It was _perfect_. Inspired. You were magnificent... I didn't expect you to do any such thing for ages yet. You are as brave as you are beautiful." he said warmly, then leaned forward and kissed the other elf soundly.

Fenris was looking pleased and much reassured by the time the kiss ended.

"Come, let us clean up and go back to the house and to bed," Zevran said. He used a twist of straw to help clean Fenris off, where his own spend was drying on his belly and thighs, then they redressed, kicked apart the mound of straw, returned the borrowed blanket to its pile, and walked back to the house in companionable silence.

By the time they'd changed for bed, Fenris was starting to look uncertain again, Zevran noticed. He climbed into bed, then held up the blankets. "Join me?" he asked wistfully.

Fenris hesitated only a moment, then nodded and slid into bed with him. The bed was narrow, but that was good; all the more reason to cuddle close together. They both slept soundly that night.


	84. A Second Surrender

Anders reached the end of his furrow and turned to look out over the broad field. The row of people seeding this one had gotten rather ragged since they'd all started out together at the far end, containing as it did a number of people with little to no experience in seeding. Not that the task was particularly hard, but mastering the flick of the wrist that broadcast a handful of seed in a fine even spray over the furrowed earth rather than in clots and clumps took practise, as did moving at just the right pace that each handful was scattered next to the one before, without too much overlap or gap between them.

It had come back to Anders quickly, the body remembering the moves he'd learned long years ago, helping his father and mother in the fields, and he'd reached this end of the field just paces behind the more practised villagers. Sebastian was doing it properly, but slowly, and was still some distance from the end. The elves were even further back, Fenris having had trouble with picking up the skill at first, and Zevran having lingered to coach him and keep him company.

A young boy came trotting along the edge of the field with a bucket and a dipper, and Anders happily accepted a dipper-full of cold well water as he waited for the others to arrive, then sat down in the shade of the hedgerow.

Sebastian was grinning as he reached the end of his furrow and came over to join the mage, dropping down onto the ground beside him. "You're almost as good at that as the villagers are," he pointed out.

"I started life as a farmer's brat," Anders told him cheerfully. "It wasn't that hard to remember how to do it."

Sebastian nodded. "It's been too many years since I last did, I found it hard to get the pace right."

"You were thinking about it too much," one of the older villagers sitting nearby remarked. "You think about what you're doing, and it's harder, not easier. Like running - you have to just _do_ it."

Sebastian grinned. "I'll try and remember that on the next pass. Can't have this scrawny weakling mage outperforming me, now can I?"

That drew a laugh from the villagers, Anders' shoulders being nearby as broad as Sebastian's from all his work in clearing the garden already this spring, the prince only maintaining an edge because of his weapon's work, particularly the archery.

"You were a farmer's son?" a woman further down the row asked curiously, leaning forward to look past the people sitting or sprawled on their backs between her and Anders.

"Yes. My parents were from the Anderfels originally, but I remember nothing of there – I was raised in Ferelden. We were sharecroppers in the Bannorn, as far as I can recall, though I think we changed landlords a couple of times, my father not being happy with either the landlord or the land itself on the first two farms we had."

"You can't remember?" a young man nearby asked. "Why not?"

"Taken away too young," Anders said with a shrug, remembering the old hurt of it. "I think I was about twelve at the time. And for years afterwards I didn't want to remember what living outside the tower had been like. It hurt too much," he said softly.

"Your people didn't stay in touch with you?" someone further down the row asked.

Anders shrugged again. "My mother might have tried. My father was glad to see the back of me. Anyway, it's not allowed," he said, unable to keep some of the old bitterness out of his voice.

"It's like when they took young Timmins away, these twenty-some years ago," one of the older men spoke up. "Some of you are too young to remember that. He had the fire magics; showed them young, too – he weren't no more than five or six when he lit a fire with just a touch. Them templars came and took him away a little afterwards, and no one, not even the old father himself, could find out where they'd taken him or what became of him after."

Some of the other villagers nodded, those old enough to remember the incident in question.

"We're hoping to change that," Sebastian spoke up. "I don't think it's right that mage-born children are torn from everything they know and love, just because they happen to have magic. They _do_ need to be be taken somewhere safe while they learn how to control their magics, but there's no reason their people shouldn't be allowed to visit them, or write to them, or send them gifts. And no reason why, once they've learned to use their magics safely, they have to remain forever in the tower, especially when there's so much good they could be doing elsewhere. Like Anders and his healing; he wouldn't have done the old father much good, locked away somewhere, now would he?"

That drew a lot of thoughtful nods and just a few worried looks. By now the stragglers had reached the end of the field as well, effectively ending the conversation as they all rose and moved back to the road to refill their bags with seed from the waiting waggon before starting on another swathe. But that was all to the good, Sebastian felt; he and Anders had planted some seeds of thought, and like the grain they'd need time to sprout and grow.

* * *

Zevran threw his near-empty seed bag onto the pile in the back of the waggon, then stretched hugely, grinning in pleasure. "Another day well-spent," he said, grinning at the others.

Anders smiled back at him, before moving closer to check Zevran's shoulder. "Wear the sling more," he chided the elf.

Zevran nodded, and slipped his arm back into the sling. "I was careful not to overuse it," he said, drawing a snort and a tolerant smile from the mage. As Anders went back over to stand near Sebastian, Zevran drifted over to where Fenris was standing, looking out over the fields they'd spend the last two days planting. "Tiring work, yes?" he asked.

Fenris nodded. "Yes. But as you say, a day well-spent," he said, and smiled warmly at Zevran. "I was just thinking how the work we did today will be feeding people later this year."

"Yes," Zevran said agreeably. "And not just here, but in the city of Starkhaven as well, and perhaps even further afield. Doubtless a tithe of the food from here will end up in the castle, this being the prince's estate, and end up on our own plates. You know, I think if I had not become an assassin I might have enjoyed being a farmer. Though I suppose it seems more pleasing when it is only done as a brief holiday from other tasks, rather than as a daily responsibility."

Fenris nodded in agreement, and they turned to walk over and rejoin Sebastian and his group of guards and servants, who were gathering to walk back to the manor together after their day in the fields. Zevran noticed the other elf was starting to slouch again, and moved close enough to him to lightly touch the small of his back. Fenris shot him an amused look, but straightened up again; Zevran had jokingly chided him over his poor posture the day before, so Fenris knew the reason for the touch was supposedly corrective, not demonstrative. That it gave Zevran an excuse to touch the other elf several times a day was not something Zevran felt needed pointing out.

"Well, everyone together now?" Sebastian said as the last few straggler joined the group. "Let's start back... it's a long walk back, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving!"

That drew smiles and nods of agreement. Sebastian started to follow the road back towards the village and the manor, everyone else falling in around him.

They had taken no more than a few steps when Fenris abruptly came to a stop. "Riders are coming," he said, turning to look back behind them. "Travelling fast."

"You hear them?" Zevran asked, puzzled, turning to look as well and seeing nothing, the others turning as well.

"No. Feel them – through the ground," Fenris said, his bare toes digging into the dusty surface of the dirt road.

They swept into sight around the curve of the road even as he spoke, a large group of mounted guardsmen in the Starkhaven colours. Most of their group relaxed, seeing the familiar armour. Sebastian moved a few steps forward, Anders and several of his guard moving with him. He raised one hand to shade his eyes at he peered at the approaching riders.

"That's not _my_ badge on their tabards," the prince suddenly exclaimed in alarm, just before the approaching men began drawing their swords.

Zevran cursed. Their own group were on foot, wearing clothes suitable for working the fields, with few having even as much as a belt knife on them. They were facing mounted, armoured, and fully armed men. He of course had a few daggers secreted about his person, but the situation was very bad.

The group of guards pulled to a stop a short distance away, a pair of riders at the rear drawing short bows as they kneed their horses to each side. They drew them, training their arrows on the unarmed group. One man, apparently the one in charge, rode forward a few steps, then called out, raising his voice so it could be heard clearly by all. "Sebastian Vael, usurper of Starkhaven, you are called upon to surrender to the forces of the true Prince of Starkhaven!"

Sebastian frowned, and drew himself up. " _True_ prince? There is no Prince of Starkhaven save myself, and any who claims otherwise is a black-hearted liar!" he angrily declared.

"Prince Goren Vael is no liar – surrender peacefully, or we will force your surrender," the guardsman ordered. "We will kill whomever we have to, in order to take you into custody," he added grimly.

Sebastian looked around at his gathered guards and servants, his companions, the handful of local villagers with them. All unarmed and unarmoured; he had little doubt that Anders, Zevran and Fenris could make a respectable showing in a fight even without weapons, but against so many armed men, it would be a terribly one-sided battle.

"You hesitate too long," the man said, and gestured. The two archers released their weapons, the people standing to either side of Sebastian crying out as arrows hit them; Anders, and one of his guards, both sinking to the ground with arrows piercing their chests.

Sebastian cried out as well, in shock and horror. The guard, he saw, was already dying, his life's blood pouring out to pool on the surface of the road, heart-shot. Anders was still alive, his eyes wide and shocked, one hand rising to finger where the shaft of the arrow emerged from his chest. Fenris quickly dropped down to kneel at his side, his face twisting with murderous anger as he looked up at the mounted guards, a mirror of the anger Sebastian felt in his own heart. Sebastian exchanged a look with Zevran, was sure the assassin was armed, and that his first priority would be protecting Fenris, his second Anders, if it did come to a fight. He turned and looked at the interlopers again, hands knotted into fists.

"Surrender yourself _now_ , or I will give the orders to cut down everyone else," the guard-captain commanded brusquely. The archers were already drawing their bows again, picking a second pair of targets; the remaining mounted guards still had their sword drawn and ready for use.

Sebastian trembled for a moment, his jaw setting. And then forced himself to walk forward a couple of steps, his hands held out from his sides. If there'd been a reasonable chance that he and his people might win, he would have refused – but all he could do now was provoke a slaughter of largely unarmed men and women. If he surrendered... if he surrendered, he would at least save the lives of his people. And there was some small chance that, with their help, Anders might be able to heal himself. He _had_ to believe in that chance, otherwise he would run mad right now, and try to kill these fools with his own bare hands. He could feel his hands shaking with the effort it took to hold to that belief and not give in to the rage that filled him.

"If you warrant that you will not harm these others, I will surrender myself," he grated out.

"I so promise; as long as they do not offer resistance to our arresting you, they mean nothing to me."

Sebastian nodded, and glanced over his shoulder at his senior guard. "Stand down for now. Obey Ser Fenris in my absence," he ordered, then looked back to Goren's men. "On those terms, I surrender myself," he said bitterly, and resumed walking forward.

Two of Goren's men rode forward to intercept him, leading a third horse. They saw him mounted, his hands bound to the pommel of the saddle and feet tied into the stirrups. He looked back once, as they rejoined the rest of their group, seeing Anders still lying in the round, Fenris and Zevran to either side of him, his watching guards and servants. Then they were lost to his sight, as mounted guards fell in behind him, and they all rode away.

_Anders_...


	85. Desperate Measures

Terrible pain, deep inside him, and a roaring in his ears. He could not see or hear at first, then briefly he _could_ see again, faces looking down at him from some great distance, as if he was at the bottom of a dark well, looking up at them. Their mouths moved, but no sound reached him. He should know those faces, should recognize them, but they faded into the far darkness again before he could focus.

"..ders... _Anders!_ "

Curses, and a faint distant pain. The roaring got worse, deafeningly loud, and then – silence, the roaring disappearing, and normal sounds slowly resuming – confused babble, wind in leaves, the scuff of feet against dirt.

"Is he..?"

Fenris' voice. Worried.

"No, not yet. But this won't last long, if it wakes him at all. _Anders!_ " Zevran, sounding unaccountably grim, then a sharp blow, and a second...

"Zevran! What are you..."

" _Anders!_ Open your eyes!"

Another blow. He obeyed the voice. Zevran, crouched over him, one hand knotted in his collar, second raised to deliver another blow. Fenris kneeling to the other side of him, looking frightened. His cheeks stung. His right forearm throbbed painfully. His chest hurt worst of all, indescribably worse than the other pains.

"...you hit me..." his own voice, frightening thin and weak, barely more than a whisper. And _oh Maker,_ Andraste's burning _arse_ , the hurt in his chest when he breathed in or out... his eyes tracked slowly down, seeing the shaft rising from his ribs, his hand lying lax around its base, the bright-coloured vanes at the upper end, shivering visibly with every beat of his labouring heart. "...shot?" he whispered.

"Yes, you've been shot," Zevran said, voice as grim as his face. "Anders. Tell us what to do. Can you heal yourself if we remove it? Or will removing it make it even worse?"

His eyes were wanting to close again. He was so tired, so very tired. Dimly, he knew that if he slept now, he wouldn't wake again. He forced his eyes open again, tried to think of what to do. Thinking was hard work, and slow. Someone was missing. His brow knotted. Sebastian? No, don't think of him. He had to heal himself first.

"Fenris...?"

"Yes?"

"Fist. Arrow."

"Fist?" he heard Zevran ask, sounding puzzled.

His eyes were closing again. He let them, needing his remaining energy for more important things than sight. There was a blue glare, shocked outcries, then the terrible feeling of something moving _inside_ him, where nothing should be. He would have screamed if he could. Someone else was. One last thing to do, and then he could re...

* * *

Zevran felt ill. He'd been told that Fenris could reach into another living person, but this was the first time he'd actually _seen_ it. Fenris' brands had flared bright blue, and he'd put his hand right inside of Anders the way someone might reach into a bin of grain or a barrel of water. Some of the people watching had screamed, fleeing in their fright over the glowing elf and his unnatural actions.

And then the arrow had flared with the same blue glow as Fenris, and suddenly it was no longer _in_ Anders, but lying on the ground beside him, its wickedly barbed point and the first few inches of the shaft still glistening redly with his blood, Fenris' hand equally red.

The blue glow faded, leaving the elf looking almost as pale and shocky as the mage did. "Is he...?" he asked, looking as ill as Zevran felt.

Anders' hand still rested over the wound. Zevran didn't dare disturb it, but instead reached to feel at his neck for a pulse. Thready and weak, but he was still alive.

"He's still alive," he said, loud enough for the others to hear. "I think he may have managed to at least partially heal himself, once the arrow was removed, but he is still very weak, and I don't know how sturdy his repairs are. We need to get him back to the manor; he should have some healing poultices and lyrium potions in his belongings. They might help."

The senior guard present quickly set to organizing the construction of a litter. Zevran, meanwhile, did his best to reassure the badly-shaken Fenris that he'd done the right thing, and gently cleaned the gore off his hand. By the time the litter was ready, Fenris had most of his colour back.

Once Anders had been transferred as gently as they could manage to the litter, they set off as quickly as they could back to the manor, everyone looking equally grim. Anders wounded, Sebastian 'arrested' by his cousin Goren with his guards unable to prevent it – small wonder that everyone was grim.

They would, of course, have to see to his rescue, Zevran knew. Good of Sebastian to have thought to put his people under Fenris' command before he was taken away – Fenris would listen to him, and Sebastian's people would listen to Fenris, and between them all, they should have a chance.

But first, getting the mage back to the manor, and doing their best to save his life.


	86. Grim Thoughts

It was well after dark before Goren's men finally stopped for the night, taking a narrow side-trail off of the main road to a clearing some distance back from it. Sebastian was feeling numb over the events of the day, and put up no resistance as he was untied and taken down off of the horse. They allowed him to eat, drink, and go to the toilet, then bound him securely for the night. Their watches were arranged so that there was never fewer than three men guarding him, in addition to pickets set beyond the circle of firelight.

He lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep between the uncomfortable position he was tied in – hogtied like a calf ready for branding, arms and legs bent uncomfortably back behind him – and his worry over Anders.

Again and again his mind replayed the moment – the guard signalling with his hand, the archers releasing, Anders and one of Sebastian's guards falling to the ground. That terrible shocked look on Anders' face. His last sight of the terribly injured mage, still flat on his back in the dirt.

He's prayed for Anders' safety before, after he was snatched, but he didn't think he'd ever prayed as hard in his life before as he prayed now, hoping beyond hope that Anders had survived the arrow. No, he realized with a sudden chill, he _had_ prayed this hard before. In Kirkwall, falling to his knees as he watched the orange-red glare of the exploding chantry staining the sky, praying with all his might that Grand Cleric Elthina had survived, and deathly certain that she had not. His prayers had not been answered then; he had even less reason to believe that they would be answered now. The thought won a pained groan from him, and a muttered "quiet you" from the nearest guard.

He clung to two hopes. First, that Anders yet lived, and second, that before this ended he would have a chance to kill Goren for his betrayal. He never should have spared the man's life, not when the man had so easily let himself become a pawn of Lady Harrimann.

He spent a while mentally castigating himself for not having some of his guards remain on guard during the festivities. He'd let his memories of the peacefulness of the event sway him, ignoring the fact that the Starkhaven of today was significantly different than the Starkhaven on his youth, surrounded by turmoil, still recovering from assassination and usurpation. Ignoring that he and Anders both had enemies; what would he have done if that had been a group of templars, come to arrest or kill Anders? He'd been an unthinking _fool!_

Now he could only hope that he'd be a lucky fool, that he'd survive this, and that Anders would as well.

He slept very little that night, and that poorly, punctuated by nightmares. Well before dawn the guards stirred and woke, and began preparing for another day of travel. They were back on the road again as soon as it was light enough to make out their footing, Sebastian once again securely tied into his saddle. Clearly they had no intention of dawdling on the road to wherever they were taking him.

* * *

A deep-seated ache, and the bitter taste of lyrium potion in his mouth. Hushed voices speaking somewhere nearby, the words irritatingly just that bit too low to make out as anything more than a thready whisper, occasional sibilants or a single louder word leaping out at him.

He tried to move, and moaned at the pain that sent through him, and wanted to moan even more at how much that moan hurt his chest. The voices broke off. A hand touched his left cheek, warm and gentle.

"Sebastian...?" he asked weakly, opening his eyes to a candle-lit room. Familiar faces loomed to either side of him, Fenris on his right and Zevran on his left.

"No. Merely me," said Zevran tiredly. "Anders, can you heal yourself further? You are still dangerously unwell."

He managed a slight nod, and tried to move his hand to his chest. He was too weak, the hand barely stirring against the sheets.

Fenris picked up his hand, and moved it to where it had to be, the elf's hand cupping over it to hold it in place. Anders looked at him uncertainly. "Fenris...?"

"Go ahead," the elf said quietly.

Anders nodded, and called upon his healing powers, shivering as Fenris' marks flared in response. The elf stayed still, just the faintest grimace on his face showing that he was experiencing discomfort from his contact with the mage while he was casting. Somehow his willingness to endure that discomfort on Anders' behalf was deeply reassuring to the mage. The worst of the remaining pain in his chest slowly subsided, his breathing easing as it did. He began aware of a throbbing pain in his right arm, and looked to where it crossed his chest, frowning as he saw a raw-edged slash in his arm, clotted with blood. "What...?"

Zevran followed the direction of his gaze. "That was me; I had a stimulant I was able to use on you to revive you for a little time, but you were in no condition to ingest it; I had to use a more direct method."

Anders grunted, and concentrated. The edges of the wound pulled together and sealed, leaving just a hair-thin scar. He let his healing energies fade away again, and lay still for a moment, catching his breath, glad that he could breathe deeply now without pain. "Where's Sebastian?" he asked grimly once he had recovered enough from the effort for speech.

"Taken captive. He surrendered rather than forcing a fight." Fenris said darkly.

Anders nodded in understanding. "We'll be rescuing him, then."

"Yes," Zevran said, sounding pleased. "Are you going to be up and able for it?"

"I will be. I need another lyrium potion, a lot of something to drink – juice or broth would be better than water – and a good big meal. And a change of clothes," he added, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking down at his blood-stained outfit.

Zevran picked up his hand and placed a vial in it. "I thought you'd say that. We'll be ready to leave as soon as it's light out; finish healing yourself and then get what rest you can. I'll go see about the food and drink."

"I will stay with the mage," Fenris said quietly.

Anders gave him a grateful smile, then held out his hand. "Open this for me, would you?"

* * *

Fenris looked around the stable yard as he mounted Ari. Zevran was standing by his own pair of horses, his hands patting over his armour as he made a final check of his gear before mounting. Anders, pale but upright and looking around, was already up on Mab, Ashes slung across his chest and his dogs sitting attentively nearby. Sebastian's guards were mostly mounted already as well, all of them looking as grim as Fenris felt as they did their own final checks of gear and supplies before moving out.

The guards who'd snatched Sebastian had a good half-day's lead on them; there was little to no chance that they'd be able to catch up with them short of wherever they were taking the Prince, which they had to assume was some sort of stronghold. Getting him out again alive... well, that's where Zevran's expertise would come into play.

For the first time, Fenris had put on his suit of armour that was in the colours of Sebastian's guard. It seemed... fitting, after Sebastian had instructed them to follow his orders. He'd been worried that they might be offended, but the senior guard present had merely smiled thinly and nodded approval when he'd seen what Fenris was wearing. He supposed that they likely felt happier about taking orders from someone dressed like they were, and may have felt that it reinforced Sebastian's orders to obey him. Or at least that it signified the prince's trust in him, that he'd clearly been previously supplied with armour in the appropriate colours and insignia, even if not in at all the same style as theirs.

Zevran, meanwhile, was dressed in the set of leather armour he'd purchased before they'd left Starkhaven, his still overly-thin left arm looking oddly out of place in its supportive sling. Anders was at least wearing his sturdiest clothing, though the difference in protection between leggings of wool and soft leather was very little. His lack of armour worried Fenris; it wasn't something he'd ever given much thought to back in their years in Kirkwall when out adventuring with Hawke. Somehow the mage had seemed a lot more well-armoured in his tatty old robe with staff than he did with empty hands and wearing regular clothing such as any merchant or well-off villager might possess. But seeing him so easily wounded and almost killed the day before had Fenris realizing just how terribly vulnerable the mage actually was. With sufficient warning there _were_ things Anders could do to protect himself from attack, but he was still at far more hazard if things came to open conflict between them and a second force than even the comparatively lightly armoured Zevran was.

Zevran had mounted up now, and kneed his horse to a walk, moving over to Fenris' side. Anders did the same, falling in on his other side. Fenris looked around, checking that everyone was mounted up and ready to go. He felt a little nervous about being the one in charge, but he knew he could depend on his companions for support and suggestions.

"Let's get moving," he called out, and nodded to the senior guard as Sebastian did whenever they were setting out on a journey, making mental note that he should find out the man's name at the next opportunity. Their first destination was the site of the ambush; from there they'd do their best to track where Sebastian had been taken. And once they found where that was, they'd figure out their next step.

He just hoped that this Goren Vael who'd had him arrested didn't intend a summary execution of the prince. That he'd been taken alive argued against it, but it might well be that the man merely wished to actually witness it being done.

They rode out of the manor house yard, and turned down the road to the east, picking up speed to travel at as rapid a pace as was safe in the dim morning light.


	87. Deadly Relationships

Sebastian was more than half-asleep, even on horseback, when the guards finally turned off the main road and through an ornate gate, following a road that wound up a forested hill to emerge at a sizable manor house. He'd never been here, but as far as he could figure out by the directions and distances they'd travelled over the past two and a half days, this was the country manor that his cousin Goren had retreated to after fleeing the city of Starkhaven the year before.

The guardsmen rode around to the back of the house and into an enclosed yard, where Sebastian was untied from the horse and allowed down, then his hands bound behind his back – bound tight at the elbows as well as wrists, doubly secure – and led into the house, guards both before and behind him.

He was taken down a narrow, echoing corridor, around a corner, up stairs, along another corridor, then shoved unceremoniously into a tiny room and locked in. Scuffed wooden floor, bare stone walls, a narrow arrowslit in the outer wall for light and air – the room was utterly bare, not even as much as a torch-holder on the walls or a wisp of straw on the floor. Sebastian considered trying to sit down – he was exhausted, with as little sleep as he'd gotten since being grabbed by Goren's guards – but he knew that once he was down he'd be unable to get up again without help, and the idea of being that helpless before his enemies was not in the least attractive. Unable to lean back with his arms bound the way they were, he settled for leaning one shoulder against the wall beside the arrowslit, and leaned there, head in the triangular embrasure backing the slit, cheek resting against the rough stone, breathing in the cool spring air.

It was very quiet, not even any sounds of other people moving around in the building, though there had to be some; the guards, if nothing else. He stood and leaned against the wall, shifting his weight from foot to foot and watching the unchanging view outside the arrowslit. A narrow slice of wooded countryside, a bit of hillside, a wall, a cobbled courtyard. After a while his shoulder started to ache, and he switched to leaning against the other side. A slightly different slice of countryside, comprised of much the same elements. Hours passed, marked only by the slowly changing angle and length of the shadows outside.

Between the quietness and his exhaustion he was starting to drift off on his feet, when a sudden scraping sound heralded the door being re-opened. He straightened up and turned. Guards, again. He let them lead him off again without protest. More corridors and stairs, the corridors changing from narrow, stone-walled ones to wider ones with first plastered walls, and then panelled walls and inlaid wooden floors, the walls hung at intervals with decorative objects – tapestries, a couple of paintings, a pair of crossed swords and a battered shield.

They reached a large arched doorway, filled with an ornately carved pair of doors, a guardsman standing to either side of it, bearing pikes. Sebastian's back stiffened. Pikes – those were usually only carried by ceremonial guards, in attendance on royalty. When they swung the double doors opened and he was marched forward, he wasn't surprised to find himself being marched into a sizable hall, the floor of polished stone tile, banners hanging from the hammerhead beams high overhead. Very throneroom-like, right down to a raised dais at the far end, and his cousin Goren sitting in an ornate chair, a hard-faced woman in an only slightly less ornate chair to one side. His wife; her name escaped Sebastian at the moment, if he'd ever had occasion to learn it.

The guards stopped in front of the dais, and shoved Sebastian roughly to his knees. One crouched down briefly, securing his ankles together and then tying his hands to them; hogtied again. Sebastian gritted his teeth, containing a surge of anger and loathing as he gazed at Goren, listening to the retreating steps of the guards.

Goren had the pale complexion and red-brown hair that was common in the Vael family, though his eyes were a watery green rather than Sebastian's brilliant blue, his face heavily dusted with freckles. He'd put on considerable weight since Sebastian had last seen him, no longer the slender athletic youth he'd been but instead a stocky middle-aged man, just beginning to develop jowls. His wife was a younger woman, with a flawless cream complexion, black hair piled in an elaborate mound on her head, and deep green eyes. Her poised posture, triangular chin and unnervingly steady gaze made her seem almost feline.

Only once the guards had left did Goren finally acknowledge Sebastian's presence, lowering his head in a rather pompous nod that made his jowls and incipient double chin stand out all the more. "Cousin," he said coldly.

"Goren," Sebastian acknowledged calmly, not missing the angry creases that formed around his cousin's mouth and eyes as Goren glared at him in response to his casual greeting.

" _Prince_ Goren," his cousin's wife corrected sharply.

He gave her a cold look, then looked back at his cousin. "So, Goren, what happened to you feeling _relieved_ that I had returned from Kirkwall, and reclaimed the rulership of Starkhaven? You made so much of that in your correspondence to me after your withdrawal to this estate," he said bitterly.

" _That_ was a _mistake_ ," Goren said coldly. "I have come to realize that it was improper of me to shirk my duties to both my country and my family by allowing a ne'er-do-well like yourself to claim the throne of Starkhaven. Your actions since usurping my throne have have made it clear that you are unfit to rule..."

" _Your_ throne, is it?" Sebastian asked angrily. "Though you are but a distant cousin of _my_ family, who have held the throne in unbroken succession of primogeniture since the Vaels first became the rulers of Starkhaven?"

Goren flushed. "I am equally a Vael, and you have long since forfeited any right your may have once possessed to the throne of our family. Several times over! First, in that you were _exiled_ by your family, given to the chantry and your place in the succession set aside. Second, in that you made no effort to reclaim 'your' throne, for long years after the death of your branch of the family. Thirdly, in that since you have usurped my throne, you have proven yourself unfit to rule..."

"Unfit? In what way?" Sebastian growled, voice low and dangerous.

"One has only to look at the spendthrift way in which you have wasted the resources of Starkhaven to house and feed foreign interlopers, this foolishness of a free clinic to coddle the rabble, your insane decision to allow mages to re-establish themselves within the bounds of Starkhaven..."

"So I should have turned away the refugees, or allowed crime and disease to breed freely among them? Cared nothing for the well-being of the people I am sworn to rule well? Ignored the desperate plight of people merely because of an accident of birth that has gifted them with powers I do not possess?"

"With a _curse_..." Goren roared.

His wife lifted one hand, and Goren cut off as abruptly as a door slamming shut. "Enough, my dear," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "You should not let your anger control you so. Come, my dear husband, go and visit the children for a while, I know how much you enjoy spending time with our sweet darlings. I will join you shortly, after I have explained to this cousin of yours how things will be dealt with from this point forward," she said, sounding all sweet reason, though the look she cast toward Sebastian was anything but _sweet_.

Something about her manner put Sebastian's back right up, and he watched through narrowed eyes as Goren heaved himself to his feet, then took his wife's hand and bowed over it, before giving her a surprisingly delicate kiss on one cheek.

"Of course, my dear Johanna," Goren answered, his choler of a moment ago seemingly already forgotten. "You always know just the right things to do and say," he said, and waddled off as if he hadn't a care in the world, pausing at the door to look back and smile warmly at his wife. Sebastian wouldn't have been surprised if the man had blown a kiss at the woman, so besotted was his expression.

Only once the door had shut behind him did Johanna return her attention to Sebastian, rising to her feet and walking over to stand before him, a sour expression on her face, holding the skirts of her dress back with one hand as if to keep them from brushing against something noisome. Something about her expression, her bearing – he cocked his head slightly, frowning as he pursued a will'o'wisp of memory. She reminded him of someone...

Her hand cracked against his cheek with painful force, hard and sudden enough to rock him to one side and almost sending him sprawling. " _That_ for my Aunt Johain, though it is barely a start," she hissed.

He blinked at her, finally making the necessary connection. A rainy afternoon, a party of his mother's, thrown for her beloved friend, the other children there, all related in one way or another to the two women and their other friends or family there present... "Of course – I should have remembered where I'd seen you before," he said coldly. "Your mother was twin sister to Lady Johain Harrimann – and you are _her_ namesake."

"Yes, my much-loved Aunt, whom _you_ killed," she grated out coldly.

" _After_ she engineered the deaths of my own family," he pointed out angrily.

"That matters not! You have killed my aunt, and stolen the birthright of _my_ children..."

"Johain Harrimann died a madwoman! She gave over her own children to a _demon_ in order to further her aim of ruling Starkhaven...!"

" _Our_ aim of ruling Starkhaven, you mean," she hissed, and then laughed at his stunned expression. "What, do you think it mere coincidence that it is _I_ that married Goren? She had thought to marry that snivelling wretch Fiona to him, but I soon convinced her it would be better otherwise; she and I were much alike, you see," she said proudly, and made a gesture with one hand. Flames rose, enveloping her hand. "More alike than anyone has ever guessed."

She slapped him again, the contact too brief to scorch him but the unnatural heat of her hand still clearly felt. "I could burn the flesh from your bones, were I sufficiently angered," she said, pointing threateningly at him, then abruptly turned and returned to her throne – for clearly it was meant to be such. "In a day or two once my preparations are complete, we will be returning to Starkhaven. There you will abdicate the throne in Goren's favour, after which I will take great pleasure in disposing of you."

"I will not do it," Sebastian grated out. "Not for such as you."

She laughed, a dark sound with little of joy in it. "Do you think you can refuse me? No, Sebastian – Johain thought she was powerful, and was satisfied with what meagre powers that demon she uncovered allowed her. I have far outstripped her; even the forbidden magics are known to me now."

Sebastian paled. "You speak of blood magic," he said.

"Yes. Blood magic, with which the minds and actions of others can be controlled. You _will_ abdicate after we reach Starkhaven, Sebastian – _doubt it not_. And do not think that you can use word of this to sway my guards – there is not a person on this estate who is not in _my_ control."

She rose and stalked over to a nearby bell-pull and gave it a fierce yank. He heard the door behind him reopen, the sound of armoured feet on stone.

"Take him away," she said, voice as cold as ice. "Throw him in the dungeons for now." She turned and walked off without even waiting to see her orders carried out, back as stiffly erect as an offended cat.


	88. Sneaking

"We're getting close now, Ser Fenris," the senior guard, Dane, murmured quietly. "The manor house is on that wooded hill over there," he added, and lifted one hand from his reins long enough to point. They'd been lucky; the weather had held clear and dry, and as little-used as the roads were, the tracks left by the large group that had abducted Sebastian had remained easy to follow. It hadn't taken long for their own guards to identify that the other group were carrying the prince off toward the area of Starkhaven where his cousin Goren lived.

Fenris nodded, looking around attentively. "Time for us to get out of sight," he said, and looked around to where a second guard rode nearby. "Jarvin, you said you're familiar with this area?"

"Aye, ser, I grew up in a small village a few miles that way," he said, pointing off across the fallow fields to their right. "Used to ramble around in the woods up this way, sometimes."

"You mean poach in them?" Anders asked, all innocence.

Jarvin grinned. "The odd rabbit or pheasant may well have found it's way into my bag all accidentally. Anyway, if it hasn't grown over since I left for the city, there should be a footpath coming up on our left soon. That goes back deeper into the forest, and I know a few good spots back in there. Just tell me what you'd like."

Zevran spoke up. "We'll likely need two places," he said. "A clearing with good grass and water for the horses to set up camp at for now, and some place from which we can see the manor and its grounds. The closer they are to each other, the better."

Jarvin frowned in though for a moment, then nodded. "I can find that," he said confidently, and when they reached the footpath a little while later, Fenris gestured for him to take the lead. They were able to ride in single-file at first, but when they eventually turned off from the footpath onto a game trail they had to dismount and lead their horses. He didn't like having their party so strung-out, but the undergrowth here was too thick to push through easily on horseback, so they had little choice. They had wandered deeper and deeper into the forest for what felt like a couple of hours but likely wasn't that long, before Jarvin finally lead them out into a grassy meadow at the foot of a wooded hill. The meadow sloped down to a marshy stream at one end.

"There should be a good view of the manor from the top of this hill," Jarvin explained, gesturing towards its crown. "And there's a trail from here toward the cleared land around the manor."

Fenris nodded, and gave the orders for camp to be set. After turning his horses over to one of the guards, he walked up the hill with Zevran, Anders, Dale and Jarvin to look over the manor and make plans.

It was a much larger building than the overgrown cottage that they'd been staying in on the original Vael estate, a huge sprawling complex. Zevran shaded his eyes and looked towards the building for some time, muttering the occasional word or phrase to himself. Jarvin sketched in the dirt, telling them what little he knew of the house and the approaches to it.

"I will have to go in and scout tonight," Zevran said once he was finished. "We just don't know enough about the place right now to make proper plans. With luck I can perhaps ascertain whether or not the prince is being held here; with great luck I may even be able to find out just where in the house he is."

"Any chance you could rescue him?" Anders asked.

Zevran snorted. " _That_ would take miraculous luck, but I will not rule it out," he said, then asked Jarvin additional questions about the routes he thought he might most easily be able to approach the house unseen along. They returned back down the hill afterwards, and had a cold meal, then Zevran slipped off into the gathering darkness.

* * *

Sebastian paced tiredly back and forth in the dimly lit cell. He had tried to remember everything Anders, Hawke, or anyone else had ever mentioned about blood mages and their abilities. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might need to be asleep for Johanna to take control of him the way she threatened, giving her access to his sleeping mind within the Fade. But he wasn't sure; perhaps she merely needed to use her blood and the right spell at the right time to do it. But he was determined to resist her plans as long as he could manage it, and therefore was not inclined to sleep.

He was almost thankful that his arms had been left tied behind his back, the ache in his shoulders and arms was making it easier for him to remain awake. Though perhaps that was a sign that his memory was wrong, that she didn't need him asleep to take control of him, otherwise she'd likely have put him in quarters more conducive to resting comfortably. Or perhaps she was merely in no rush to take over his will, enjoying the subtle torment given to him by his _knowing_ what she intended to do and being unable to prevent it.

He wondered if he'd even know it, when she did it, if she didn't do it within his sight. Would some part of him be aware that he had been taken over? Or would it feel like his own natural thoughts and words and actions, as he acquiesced to the witch and gave her whatever she demanded of him? He didn't know which thought was ultimately more horrifying – that of being trapped within himself, watching and unable to act, or of not even being _aware_ that he would have acted differently, given a free choice.

All he could do was hope to resist whatever the woman tried to do, to make it as hard for her to assume control of him as possible, to hope that his friends had been able to track where he was taken, and might effect a rescue. Hope, too, that Anders had survived, and would be among them when they came, or that they would at least bring word that the mage was recovering.

He paced, staggering with exhaustion, but not daring to stop.

* * *

Zevran did not like the feel of the house at all. It was quieter than he would have expected in such a large building; even the few servants up doing final tasks before heading to their beds – cleaning and polishing shoes, kneading bread dough for the morning baking, and so on – were eerily silent, not exchanging the quiet gossip that would have been normal. This was especially frustrating since he'd hoped that overhearing such gossip might give him a clue as to whether or not Sebastian was indeed imprisoned somewhere in the sprawling building.

From what he'd seen of it so far, he believed the building had started out as a much smaller, defensive structure; a stone keep, the lower floors of which still retained the original arrowslits, even the glassed-in windows higher up being few and narrow. It had been added onto at least twice, he judged, the most recent addition being the most ornate section, with plentiful large windows, and totally incapable of being properly defended against a determined force. He guessed the current family quarters were in this newest section; they were certainly the most heavily guarded area, guards standing at attention at wide intervals along the hallways. He'd only been able to make the most cursory investigation of the edges of the area – the time involved to make a more thorough check would have been prohibitive. Better to work by process of elimination, and check the other sections of the house first; if he found no sign of Sebastian there, then he would consider making a foray deeper into the guarded areas.

He stood in the shadows for a moment, pondering over where to investigate next. The oldest section, he decided; it was likely given over to guards and servants, if still inhabited at all, and most of them would be soundly asleep by now. It was also the place most likely to have things such as a dungeon, and most people, if they chanced to possess such a place, invariably stuck prisoners in them.

There was a guard pacing the lower hallway of the old keep, but it was child's play for Zevran to creep along silently behind him until the guard passed the entry to a staircase leading downwards, and then slip quietly down them. The heavy door at the foot of the stairs wasn't even locked; a little oil, a careful pull, and he had slipped into the basements. He lit a stub of candle and quietly padded through the warren of cellars and storage rooms down there, eventually finding another stair winding down even further to a sub-basement, blocked with another heavy door at its foot

This one was locked, but had a small barred window in it. Peering through he could see a short stone hallway, and unlike the remainder of the basement which had been left in darkness, there was a torch burning towards the far end, mostly burned down but still casting a small circle of light. He could hear scuffing footsteps, too, as of someone pacing around. He waited a while until he was certain it was coming from one of the cells, not from some bend of the hallway beyond his sight.

"Sebastian?" he called, as softly as he could. The footsteps stopped. "Sebastian, is that you?" he called out, a little louder.

"Zevran! Thank the Maker!" Sebastian exclaimed softly, and Zevran caught a glimpse of movement at the bars of a cell midway down the row. "Is Anders...?"

"He lives, and is nearby. It is just myself here right now though. How are you?" he called back, already at work on picking the huge old lock on the door.

A short, bitter laugh. "I've been better. Do you think you can get me out of here?"

"I certainly mean to try," Zevran called back, and grinned as the lock succumbed to his tools. He opened the door and hurried down the row of cells, dropping to one knee to examine the lock on Sebastian's cells. Newer and of finer work than the one on the door; it would be much trickier to pick. Never one of his better skills. He muttered an imprecation and started in on it, glancing up to where Sebastian leaned heavily on the bars, watching him. The man looked poorly, his hair greasy, chin unshaven and with large dark circles under his eyes, still wearing the same rough clothing he'd had on for work in the fields, and smelling of horse and stale sweat.

"Listen, this is important," Sebastian said quietly. "In case you don't get me out – tell Fenris and Anders that Goren's wife, Johanna, is the niece of Lady Harimann, and a blood mage. She means to control me, at least long enough to travel to Starkhaven and abdicate the throne in Goren's favour, and then kill me."

Zevran paused and stared up at Sebastian, appalled. "A blood mage? _Brasca!_ " He bent back to work on the lock, resisting the urge to try and work faster, knowing that he needed to stay slow and careful to coax the damned thing open.

He had two of the tumblers lifted and was working on a third when Sebastian suddenly stiffened, looking toward the stairs. "Guards coming," he hissed. " _Hide!_ "

Zevran bit back another curse, hearing the distant sound of metal-shod feet against stone now too, and yanked his lockpicks free, shoving them haphazardly into a belt pouch even as he raced down the hallway to the unlocked door. He pulled it closed, snapped the lock shut again, and raced up the steps into the main basement, diving out of sight behind a stack of filled sacks only half a minute before four guards clattered through on their way down to the jail, carrying a lantern that sent long shadows dancing around them as they moved. As soon as they were out of sight down the stairs he moved again, to a better hiding spot in a side room, where he wouldn't be spotted by them on their way back up.

A few minutes later they walked by again, Sebastian stumbling along between them. Zevran had considered setting on them, taking them out and then trying to escape with the Prince, then decided it was too risky; a pair he could have handled, but four was too many for him to take out given his currently limited range of equipment and poisons. Moreover someone was likely waiting for the guards and their prisoner, and would raise an alarm all too quickly if they failed to show up within a reasonable amount of time. Better to wait; by Sebastian's words, the prince was at least in no immediate danger of death. He would wait for a while, and then sneak back out and carry word to the others of what he'd seen and heard, and they could decide together whether it was better to attempt rescue now, or to ambush the Vaels after they set out for the city.

And who knows, perhaps they would return Sebastian to the jail before he had to leave, and he'd have a second chance at getting him free.


	89. Travel Plans

Sebastian stumbled tiredly along the corridor, surrounded by the four guards. His mood alternated between elation at word that Anders was alive – alive, and somewhere near! – and his friends here to try and rescue him, and fear over whether they would succeed in time. A fear exacerbated by this abrupt middle-of-the-night summoning; he doubted it boded any good for himself.

The guards led him higher in the building, up narrow spiralling stone staircases, to somewhere high in the building. They opened a door, and marched him into a room – a sparsely furnished bedroom, containing a fireplace, a wooden tub of water steaming on the bare stone floor before it, and a small plain bed against one wall. And Johanna, standing leaning against the wall by the single narrow window, little wider than an arrowslit but filled with small diamond-shaped panes of thick, wavy glass. She was wearing a burgundy velvet robe over an embroidered white cotton shift, her hair down in a dishevelled ebony cascade over her creamy shoulder. The look of disgust she gave him as she looked him over from head to toe made it obvious that it was not for some attempted assignation that he had been brought here, despite her overly intimate attire.

"We leave for Starkhaven tomorrow," she announced. "You will hardly be believable as a free-acting Prince of Starkhaven in your current disreputable condition. You are to bathe and sleep; food and proper attire will be brought to you in the morning; we will leave shortly after lunch. You may either bathe and feed and dress yourself, or my guards will see that it is done for you. They will not be gentle. I care not which you choose," she said coldly, then swept out of the room, giving him a wide berth.

One of the guards unbound his arms. He hissed in pain as he was finally able to move his arms from behind his back for the first time since dismounting his horse outside, his shoulders and elbows protesting having been in such a strained position for so long.

There was, he quickly decided, little sense in resisting having a bath, or putting on clean clothes. Without a word to the guards he walked over towards the wooden tub, already stripping off the shirt. He looked over his shoulder at the motionless guards. "You planning to watch, or may I have some privacy?" he asked coolly.

Three of them turned and left the room, closing the door behind them. The fourth walked over and stood beside the door, staring blankly towards the windows on the far side of the room. Sebastian supposed real privacy was not going to be allowed him, in case he tried to escape or kill himself, and shucked off the rest of his clothes, quickly climbing into the small tub. At least he'd been supplied with a washcloth and a bar of good soap, and he could see a voluminous nightshirt lying on the bed. He bathed thoroughly, glad to remove the evidence of three days in the same clothes, of hard sweaty work and a long ride. The water was cloudy grey by the time he was finished.

He rose, ignoring the guard, and sheeted off what water he could with his hands, not having been supplied with a towel, before walking over to the bed and pulling on the nightshirt. It was long and loose, and smelled comfortingly of heather and a recent ironing. He doubted the guard would tolerate him walking around the room when he'd been ordered to rest, but was still determined to stay awake if he could. He got into bed, lying down on one side with his back to the room, and stared at the wall, surreptitiously pinching himself at intervals to try and stay awake.

But his great exhaustion, his relief at knowing Anders was well, and the warm comfort of the bath and bed conspired against him; after a while his eyes drifted shut, and he slept.

* * *

It was grey pre-dawn when Zevran returned to camp, looking both cheerful and frustrated. Fenris, Anders, and Dale had been awake for a while, nervously awaiting his return; they quickly surrounded him, wanting to hear his news of his scouting trip.

"I saw him; he is there, and alive," he told them first of all. All three looked immensely relieved. "I managed to speak to him, briefly, before some guards arrived and moved him elsewhere; I had hoped they would bring him back, but they never returned before it became necessary for me to depart. He had dark news for me to carry to you two," he added, looking at Fenris and Anders.

"Dark news?" Fenris asked worriedly.

"Yes. He told me that the wife of his cousin Goren is niece to Lady Harimann – I assume that is someone the two of you are familiar with from elsewhere? – and that she is a blood mage."

Fenris looked shocked and worried at his words. Anders exclaimed. "Andraste's knicker-weasels, I'll say we're 'familiar' with Lady Harimann! We killed her, back in Kirkwall. Hawke, Sebastian, Isabela and I – it was she that had hired the mercenaries that wiped out Sebastian's family. She was a mage herself, and had conspired with a desire demon; turned her own children over to it, in order to gain its help in taking over Starkhaven. So her niece married Goren? That explains much," he finished grimly.

Zevran nodded. "Sebastian says that her plan is to use her magics to force him to abdicate in favour of Goren, after which she will most likely kill him. So he is not in immediate threat of death, since they will need to journey to the city before he can abdicate, but we had still best remove him from her potential influence as soon as we may."

Fenris nodded. "Right. Did you hear anything to indicate when they planned to travel?"

Zevran shook his head, looking frustrated. "No. I did not see signs of any preparations being made for such a journey, but it could well be that any such were either made before Sebastian's arrival, or can be completed in very little time. In either case, we are unlikely to have much warning before they set forth from the manor for the city."

Fenris nodded, then looked to Dale. "How many routes are there that they might take between here and Starkhaven?"

Dale frowned. "I'm not sure. Let me fetch Jarvin, he might know."

Jarvin did know – there were two possible routes, but the first few miles of them, from the manor house to a nearby crossroad, were identical.

"If we do ambush them, it sounds like it would be best to do it along this first stretch of their route," Zevran said, tapping his finger on the ground beside the rough map the guard had scratched in the dirt.

"What is the land like along there?" Fenris asked.

"Woods near the house, then fields. There's a bridge over a shallow ravine here, with more woods on either side, and then it's fields all the way to the crossroads."

"Thick or thin woods?" Anders asked.

"Thinned out, near the manor – they browse deer and stuff in there, the groundskeepers keep it cut back for better forage and easier hunting. The woods by the ravine is wilder."

"The ravine then, most likely. If we can ambush them on the woods side of the bridge, and somehow block the bridge so they cannot cross back over it, we will have them cornered." Dale pointed out.

"I can take care of the bridge," Anders said grimly. "Can you take care of the mage, Zev?"

Zevran grinned. "As the old saying goes, a knife in the back cramps any mage's style."

"She is a blood mage, remember," Fenris said warningly. "And we do not know whether or not she can heal herself. Something more immediately lethal is preferable."

Zevran nodded. "True. Though usually more difficult to obtain reliably than a merely crippling shot. But yes, I can take care of her. A pity I didn't bring any Magebane along, that would make it far more certain."

"Not necessarily, blood mages draw their power from a pact with a demon, not from themselves; blood magic will still work even if the mage themself is out of power; having power just makes it easier, as they can also draw on the blood of those they kill magically," Fenris pointed out.

"True," Anders agreed, and looked against Zevran. "If you can't manage a killing shot, I'd recommend going for one that knocks her unconscious over one that merely injures her."

Zevran nodded. "It will be done," he promised.

They decided to move to the proposed ambush location immediately; better to be in place too early than to arrive too late. And if it did prove unsuitable once they reached it, they'd still have time to try and locate a better spot, they hoped.

They moved out as the dawning sun was staining the sky with a million glorious colours, walking swiftly and silently along the forest paths in Jarvin's wake, leading their horses.


	90. Possession

Sebastian woke feeling surprisingly well-rested in mid-morning. He rose from his bed, noting that there was still a guard standing silently by the door. Not the same one as the night before, this one had darker hair and eyes, and was shorter.

Servants must have come into the room while he slept; a covered tray rested on a square table that hadn't been there the night before, and there was also a metal canister of water steaming away beside the rebuilt fire, with toiletries set out on a small washstand nearby. He poured some of the steaming water into the washbasin, and spent a while on carefully shaving. He started by sharpening the razor, stropping it back and forth on the strap provided, until the edge was wickedly sharp. Next he wet a cloth with the hot water, and held it to his face to soften the bristles, then used the brush of coarse pig-bristles to whip up a thick froth of foamy soap and apply it to his face. Finally he picked up the razor, and set to work running it carefully over his skin, removing froth and stubble. Not having a mirror, he had to rely on touch to tell when his chin and upper lip were finally sufficiently well-shaven, but he hadn't had a mirror at the chantry either, and was well-practised at it. He applied a little scented oil to sooth his skin afterwards, before combing clean water and more of the oil through his hair to tame it from his night's sleep.

The tray proved to hold a simple breakfast of sausages and biscuits, with tea leaves in a large mug waiting just the addition of more of the hot water. There was honey to sweeten the tea and strawberry jam to have on the biscuits. There was no chair, so he stood, and ate his way steadily through the meal. When he was done, he washed his hands and rinsed his mouth, then went and sat on the bed, and waited for whatever was to be done next, eyes unfocused and hands lying lax in his lap, breathing slowly and regularly. He felt very calm and relaxed, completely unworried, as he watched the shadows in the room slowly moving across the walls and floor as the angle of the light streaming in the window gradually changed.

Time passed, perhaps an hour, perhaps longer. A servant came and cleared away the breakfast tray. Another arrived a little later and removed the toiletries and the can of water, then two more came in carrying clothing. He stood, stripping off the nightshirt, and allowed the pair to dress him. He could see that the clothing had been cut down from an outfit for a larger man; something belonging to his cousin Goren, presumably. It must have been altered overnight. Whomever had done it had done a reasonably good job, though they hadn't got the proportions quite right; the shirt was a little too tight in the shoulders, the leggings loose enough through the waist and hips that they had to take them off, reverse them, put them on him again, and quickly sew a pair of tucks, then take them off again and turn them right-side-out, before he could finally wear them. The only boots they had for him were too tight, and pinched his feet. He would have blisters if he had to walk much in them.

Eventually the pair of servants were satisfied with his appearance, and left again. He resumed his seat on the edge of the bed, his coat lying waiting on the bedding beside him, waiting quietly as another hour passed.

Lunch was brought him; a bowl of soup, some buttered bread, more tea. He ate neatly, standing again, then pulled on his coat and left the room, his four guards falling in around him. He walked down several floors, making only one stop – for him and his guards to take turns making use of a garderobe – then continued further down and out to the main courtyard. A double line of mounted guards waited before and behind a pair of fine carriages. Servants were climbing into the rear carriage, two of them carrying infants and one helping a young boy of about four or five years of age in. Goren and Johanna's children, he supposed – their firstborn son, and the fraternal twin boy and girl that had been born shortly after they'd retreated to this estate.

Johanna and Goren were at the more ornate carriage in front, Goren just ducking in the door of it. Johanna looked Sebastian over as he approached, and smiled as he bowed to her. "Good enough, until we reach the castle and can see you properly redressed in your own clothing," she said approvingly.

He felt a deep-seated surge of pleasure at having pleased her, and bowed again before entering the carriage as well. He sat on the narrow wooden front bench, facing back, while Johanna and Goren arranged themselves comfortably on the deeper, well-cushioned seat at the back. A pair of servants climbed in as well, male and female – Goren's valet and Johanna's maidservant, he assumed – and took seats to either side of Sebastian, ready to serve their master and mistress on the long trip. It was a day and a half to the city of Starkhaven from here; they would not arrive until late the next day.

Once she was arranged to her satisfaction, Johanna nodded to Goren. He thumped his cane loudly against the roof, and a moment later the carriage lurched into movement. Sebastian could hear the clopping of the horses hooves as they crossed the courtyard, the echoing sounds as they passed through the gatehouse and out onto the road.

"Look out the window, if you wish," Johanna bade him.

He didn't particularly wish to, or not to, but turned and watched the passing countryside anyway, as being marginally more interesting than watching Johanna and Goren. They were passing through a manicured woods, he saw, the trees wide-set and well-grown, with little underbrush, but plentiful graze. He caught a glimpse of a deer, raising its head to look toward the passing cavalcade, before it turned and bounded away, white rump and tail startlingly visible, like the flash of a warning flag.

"A lovely day for the journey," Johanna remarked conversationally to her husband.

"Yes," Goren agreed solemnly. "Hopefully tomorrow will be, as well. I hope the inn has cleaner sheets this time; last time we stopped there, they were a disgrace."

"I've had the servants pack our own bedding. At least they have a decent kitchen there."

"And a tolerable wine cellar," Goren agreed.

Sebastian tuned out their conversation. It had nothing to do with him, after all. No more than the passing landscape did. He swayed with the movements of the carriage as it lurched over some small roughness in the road, relaxed and calm, mind empty of any real thought.


	91. Magic and Madness

Fenris had looked over the ambush location, and asked Zevran for his opinion on it, then calmly given everyone their orders. Anders and Zevran were to hide in the undergrowth closest to the bridge, Zevran closest to the road, and Anders further back with a small group of guards and his pair of dogs to help keep him safe. Fenris and more of the guards would be waiting on the opposite side, and then the largest group of guards were to be a short distance further down the road. Their horses, and Anders' cat, were being left a short distance away in the forest.

The plan was to allow any forward guards and the carriages to cross the bridge, then their main group of guards would block the road while Anders rendered the bridge impassable. Zevran would concentrate on taking out Johanna, once they identified her, with Fenris concentrating on locating and freeing Sebastian. At Zevran's suggestion they'd partially cut through a massive tree to one side of the road, just a bit down from where most of the guards were to wait; it would need just a good hard push to drop it across the road, where it would prevent the Vaels and their guards from being able to easily escape forward if they somehow dealt expediently with the guards.

Their plans drawn up and preparations made, they retreated off the road to a small cold camp they'd set up, to wait out word that the Vaels were moving, and began discussing what to do if they didn't leave today. Zevran suggested that a rescue in the night might be feasible, in such a case, at least assuming he could relocate Sebastian.

It was nearing mid-day before one of the scouts that had been sent off with Jarvin suddenly returned, with word that there was activity in the castle courtyard; it looked like the Vaels were indeed going to leave today. A while later a second scout arrived with word that there were mounted guards assembling and two carriages being readied. Not much later Jarvin himself returned, riding hard. He'd seen Goren and his family emerge and head to the carriages; their departure had clearly been imminent.

Everyone quickly moved to their positions, and waited. The carriages would of course have set out some time after Jarvin left the area, and they would be moving slower than he had. The wait seemed to drag on and on, until finally they caught sight of a distant glimmer of movement far down the road, the armour of the mounted guards winking in the sunlight as they rode at a steady pace toward the bridge.

Anders chewed worriedly on his bottom lip, impatiently watching the approach of the mounted guards and the large carriages. The one in front was more ornate, with polished bright-work, already gathering a coating of dust from the road, and finer horses – doubtless the one the Vaels were riding in. The larger, plainer carriage at the rear likely held their servants and luggage. He frowned, wondering which Sebastian was in. As they drew closer, he saw that there were additional guards following behind the second carriage.

The guards reached and crossed the bridge, then the first carriage, the second, the final guards started across...

There was a loud cracking sound, and a roar of sound as the tree they'd prepared fell down across the road, just a few horse-lengths from the leading guards. Even as the guardsmen's mounts started back or bucked in fright, Sebastian's guardsmen poured out into the road, grimly attacking the disorganized guardsmen. Anders quickly rose to his feet, casting a spell at the bridge, coating it with ice. The mounted guards still on the bridge found their horses skidding on the suddenly slick surface, the guards and their horses taking injuries as several of the mounts fell. A pair of spells sent a curtain of flame roaring upwards from a spreading pool of grease at the far end of the bridge, frightening men and mounts even further while blocking any retreat.

He tuned out the screams of injured men and horses alike, already turning to see what was going on ahead of the bridge. A pitched battle was going on between Sebastian's men and Goren's. He caught a glimpse of movement in the bushes near the forward carriage, on this side of the road – Zevran moving to intercept it, he assumed – and caught sight of Fenris and several guards running toward the rear carriage, the elf having apparently decided that was where Sebastian must be.

The door of the front carriage swung open, and an arrogant-looking blond-haired woman leaned out, holding up the skirts of her dress with one slender hand, her other resting on the frame of the opening, while looking quickly up and down the road. Zevran popped up out of the bushes, and then she was falling, blood spraying from her slashed throat. Anders felt a surge of elation, everything seemed to be working out just as they'd hoped – and then the woman exploded in a cloud of blood and gore, and Anders felt a chill go down his spine as he realized that whomever that first woman had been, it had _not_ been Johanna Vael.

A man plunged out of the carriage next; a familiar man, with reddish-brown hair and bright blue eyes, a dagger in one hand. _Sebastian_. Without even pausing to survey the battle he moved to engage Zevran, the elf skipping backwards to avoid his furious attack. Anders cursed and moved toward the fight, not sure what to do but hoping he could figure out some way of disabling the prince without actually injuring him.

A second woman appeared in the carriage's door, this one with her hair pulled up and back in a cascade of black ringlets, green eyes narrowed as she looked around. Zevran darted away from Sebastian and managed to throw a dagger at her, but she caught it out of the air with a casual flick of her hand, and smiled a thoroughly _predatory_ grin at the assassin. As the blond woman had done, she then looked up and down the road. She frowned in displeasure over what she saw – the road blocked by the fallen tree, Sebastian's guards fighting hers, cries of frightened servants arising from the other carriage, the bridge blocked with ice and fire, and the fallen men and horses of her rear guard.

Anders finally drew close enough to attempt a spell on Sebastian, casting a spell of paralysis on him. Zevran immediately made another try for the woman, charging towards her with a dagger in each hand. She gestured, and one of her guards exploded in a fountain of blood. Zevran crashed to his knees, then slowly rose, dusting himself off and looking expectantly at the woman. Anders glanced around, put his handful of guards to sleep, and walked forward to join Zevran and Sebastian.

The woman – Johanna – looked them over, a pleased smile on her face. "Oh, lovely, I've been wanting another mage," she purred. She climbed down out of the carriage, and walked over to take a closer look at the Anders and Zevran, ignoring the battle still in progress around the carriage. "A Crow? Useful."

A man had now appeared in the door of the carriage and was peering around uncertainly. Goren Vael, Anders guessed, based on a certain coarse similarity of appearance between him and the prince.

"What is this? An ambush?" he asked anxiously, looking around with wide eyes.

"Don't worry, darling, I'm taking care of it," Johanna said soothingly. She gestured again, the worst-injured of her guards exploding into clouds of blood, and suddenly the sounds of combat died away, the guards that had been fighting stopping. They immediately started sorting themselves out, the still-healthy among her guards moving to resume their mounts and positions, the unmounted guards that had been Sebastian's moving to drag the injured and dead men and horses off of the road. "You see? All better now. Go check on the children, my dear, while I sort out this mess."

Goren nodded and walked placidly off toward the second carriage. Johanna looked around, an expression of distaste momentarily crossing her face. "Well. I suppose it will at least make things more believable for us to arrive with both our own guards and yours, Sebastian," she said, then sniffed. "Though the delay while things are cleaned up and sorted out is _quite_ annoying."

There was a scuffing sound, and a slim form rolled out from under the carriage; Fenris, glowing blue, his face a rictus of hatred as he sprang to his feet. Johanna spun, striking out at him – but the elf moved even faster, his hand plunging into and through her chest. She tried to scream, and couldn't manage more than a whimper.

" _Release them_ ," Fenris hissed angrily.

Her hands rose to scrabble frantically at his arm, where it disappeared through her clothing, her face paling further as her hands passed right through it. Fenris' scowl deepened, and he twisted his hand. " _Now!_ " the elf roared in her face, and then twisted again. She managed a scream then, a thin wailing sound, a thread of blood drooling out the corner of her mouth.

Anders felt his knees suddenly give out, and he crashed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Nor was he the only one to suddenly react; Sebastian was down on his hands and knees, vomiting on the ground. Zevran staggered, but somehow kept on his feet. Most of the guards were down as well, some merely disoriented, some convulsing, or screaming mindlessly, or far too still.

Fenris abruptly straightened his arm, his hand bursting out the woman's back, her heart clenched in his fist, and then she was falling to the ground, limp as a ragdoll. Fenris opened his hand, the bloody scrap of flesh falling to the ground. He looked around warily for any further threat.

" _Madre de Andraste_..." Zevran breathed, voice awed, the look he was giving Fenris equal parts shock and horrified admiration.

Anders pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Sebastian had stopped throwing up, and was sitting back on his heels, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth, looking shaken and pale. Anders put out his hand, touching his shoulder, then gripping it firmly when Sebastian looked up at him, his every emotion laid bare in the look he gave Anders. Anders could feel him trembling beneath his hand, and want nothing more in that moment than to embrace and comfort him, and be comforted by him in turn.

Screams suddenly broke out nearby, drawing their attention. The near door of the second carriage burst open, a woman tumbling out, one hand pressed to her face and mouth wide in a pained cry. Blood was running down from a deep slash across her cheek. Two male servants tried to force their way out behind her, screaming in fear, both so frantic to escape the carriage that they jammed in the narrow doorway for a moment. A sword's blade appeared out of the chest of one as someone inside the carriage skewered him from behind, and then he fell back inside, the other man scrambling out and running blindly away from carriage. More servants were piling out the far side, the carriage rocking violently from their sudden exit and whatever was happening inside it.

The female servant looked around, and catching sight of them, caught up her skirts and ran over towards them, ignoring the horrible wound on her face in her fear. "Oh, help, help, he's _killing_ them!" she cried frantically.

* * *

Sebastian rocketed to his feet, face paling further. "Goren!" he exclaimed, and ran towards the carriage, the other three following after him, Zevran dodging around the horses to approach the far door.

The inside of the carriage was a charnel, Goren standing with feet widespread in the middle, flailing wildly around him with his sword, hacking at the bodies sprawled around him on the floor and seats. There was nothing of sanity left in his eyes.

Sebastian swore. The sound, or their movement – _something_ – attracted Goren's attention, and he screamed shrilly and lunged at the door, sword moving in a deadly thrust toward Sebastian's chest. Sebastian froze, time seeming to slow as he watched the narrow blade moving straight for his chest. Then Anders was knocking him aside, sending him sprawling sideways in the dirt, the mage crying out in pain as the sword plunged into his own arm instead.

A thin arm snaked around Goren's neck from behind, and a dagger was dragged across his neck in a lethal move that half-severed his head. Zevran let the dying man drop, shoving him out the open door with a foot to the small of his back, an expression of disgust crossing his face as he looked around the bloodied carriage. "Such _senseless_ butchery..." the assassin spat.

"Are you all right?" Sebastian asked Anders as he scrambled back to his feet, reaching worriedly out toward the wound in the mage's arm, stopping with his hand just shy of touching it.

Anders nodded. "Well enough," he said, smiling wryly. "At least this is comparatively easy to heal," he added, then looked in concern at the carriage. "Though I'll hold off for now – I think there may be others who need my healing powers more right now."

Sebastian nodded. He looked around, then started calling orders, rallying the few servants who seemed to have retained their senses, and any nearby guards. He soon had the injured being rounded up and carried over, the bodies being extracted from the carriage and separated into the still-living and the dead.

The worst bodies to see brought out were the children. In his madness Goren seemed to have targeted them especially. The twins were found first; the boy had died to his father's blade, while the little girl had seemingly been crushed in the press of bodies. Sebastian's eyes filled with tears as he closed the eyes of the twin infants, and saw them wrapped in their little blankets and put aside from the other corpses.

They found the older boy last of all, in the back of the carriage; his nurse had tried to shield him from his father's attack with her own body, it seemed, and the madman had killed them with a single thrust, vicious enough to pass through both of them. A pair of guardsmen carried her lax body out first, a third following with the much smaller corpse of the boy. Sebastian took his young cousin's body from the man's arms, and carried it over to lay down beside the twins, then sank to his knees, overwhelmed with grief over so many senseless deaths; those Johanna had killed to fuel her blood magic, those killed in the battle between the opposing forces of guards, those who'd died outright or lost their minds when _she_ died. Those killed by Goren in his final madness after her death.

Anders walked over, sinking down to his knees beside the distraught man. "I've healed the worst injured," he said quietly. "We should give thought to moving everyone back to the manor; we've still a lot of injured, and there's many who have no physical hurt, but are disturbed mentally... and with Johanna's death, doubtless the manor is half a madhouse as well."

Sebastian nodded tiredly. "Aye. And we'll have a great many dead to burn as well, before we return to the city," he said bitterly, and looked down at the three bodies. "So young... so damnably _young_..."

Anders nodded, and reached out to close the boy's eyes. And stopped.

"He _lives_ ," Anders hissed in shock, and tore the boy's blood-soaked shirt open, revealing the wound in his side, still oozing a slow seep of blood. He pressed his hand over it, a healing glow already springing forth. "Quick, a potion – I'll need lyrium..."

"A lyrium potion!" Sebastian cried out, rising to his feet and looking frantically around. "Anyone have one?"


	92. Reassurances

Anders bent down and placed his hand on Ewan's forehead, feeling relieved to find it neither too cool nor heating with fever. He heard the door behind him open, and straightened and turned, smiling slightly as he saw that it was Sebastian.

"How is he?" Sebastian asked in a hushed voice, walking silently over to stand looking down at his young cousin.

Anders smiled tiredly. "Well enough. The worst of the danger is past; the sword seems to have missed hitting the bowels, and he's recovering well from the shock and the blood loss now that the injury has been healed," he whispered, then looked back down at the boy, reaching to straighten the sheet draped over the still, too-pale form. "Children are usually incredibly resilient; he'll likely be fully recovered and running around before some of the adults are. Physically recovered, anyway. Maker only knows about mentally."

Sebastian looked appalled. "Do you think she was even controlling _him_... but he is only a child! Her _own_ child!"

"Shhh. Come, let's talk elsewhere," Anders said softly. They left the bedroom, nodding in passing to the woman sitting reading quietly in the sitting room – one of Sebastian's female guardsmen – and went out to the hallway as she rose and went in to watch over the boy overnight. The door was guarded by four more guardsmen; Sebastian was taking no chance that one of the survivors of Johanna Vael's control might decide to revenge themselves on the son for what his mother had done. He could certainly understand their fear and anger, after being in her control himself. He'd been lucky, if it could be called that – less than a full day in her power, and without awareness that he was being controlled while it had been ongoing.

Those who had been in her power the longest had mainly died or gone mad when her death had released them. Questioning of those sane enough to speak of their experiences made it clear that those who hadn't been aware of their controlled state had fared best in retaining their sanity, apart from a few unfortunate souls who'd witnessed or been made to do things too horrifying for them to deal with rationally now that they _could_ think about them.

The manor house had been just as much a madhouse as Anders had suggested when Sebastian's party had arrived at it, corpses sprinkled randomly around the building where people had died in their tracks, over a third of the survivors varying degrees of mad. Some had run riot, others had begun vandalizing or looting the place, others – both mad and sane – had fled into the surrounding countryside. It had taken hours to bring the place under some degree of control. Even now, Sebastian's forces controlled only about half of the building.

Anders was glad that Sebastian had sent a fast messenger from the ambush site to Starkhaven to summon more of his guards, and assistance from the chantry as well; it would take days to even make a start on cleaning up the mess Johanna Vael's death had left behind. And doubtless, given their current distrust of anything to do with mages – even Anders' healing magics had been met with fear and suspicion – they would be reassured to have a force of templars around.

They reached the suite of rooms Sebastian had selected for his quarters during their stay here. He'd insisted that Anders take the small room adjacent to his bedroom that was meant for a valet or squire to inhabit; he wanted the mage close at hand during whatever time they remained here, in case of additional problems, had been the justification. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that neither of them wished to be parted from the other right now, not after the terrifying events of the last few days, both of them having been forced to confront how desperately frightened they had been over the danger the other had been in.

The door of the suite closed behind them. They slowed and came to a stop, turning and looking uneasily at each other, both feeling terribly self-conscious over finally being alone together. Sebastian reached out, his hand hovering once more near Anders' arm, as it had earlier in the day. "Your arm?" he asked hesitantly.

"Healed," Anders said, voice thick with sudden emotion.

Sebastian's hand closed gently on the arm. His other hand rose to touch the centre of Anders' chest, fingers shaking ever so slightly. "That arrow..." he said, voice husky, and broke off.

"I survived," Anders said softly, reaching up to lay his own hands over top of Sebastian's, holding it to him.

Sebastian studied his face in silence for a long moment. He studied Sebastian's as well, seeing the fear and pain still lurking in the depths of his eyes, the downward turn of his mouth. He lifted one of his hands, touching fingertips gently to Sebastian's cheek, to where one of his dimples would be when he smiled. Sebastian turned his head slightly, keeping his eyes locked with Anders' as he brushed a feather-light kiss over his fingertips.

Anders shivered. He curled his fingers, letting the backs of them brush against Sebastian's cheek, then dropped his hand, uncurling the fingers and cupping his hand against the side of Sebastian's neck, fingertips sliding back under his ear to thread into the hair in back of it. Sebastian bit nervously at his bottom lip, then ever so slowly leaned forward. Anders waited passively, only at the last moment finally moving, tilting his head just slightly to the side, eyelids sliding closed as Sebastian's mouth met his.

Warm lips, slick with saliva, kissing first gently, tentatively, then with more assurance. Anders sighed, his mouth falling slightly open, and Sebastian didn't hesitate to take advantage of it, his tongue slipping warmly into Anders' mouth. Sebastian's hand released Anders' arm, and moved upwards, coming to rest on the join between Anders' neck and shoulder. For a long time they just stood there, tongues sliding wetly back and forth against each other, now in Anders' mouth, now in Sebastian's.

Finally the kiss ended, both of them flushed and breathless. Sebastian studied Anders again, the look in his eyes now a tormented one.

"Anders... I..." he broke off, shook his head in frustration.

"I know," Anders said gently. "Your vows. It's all right."

"No, it's _not_ all right," Sebastian corrected. "I... dammit. _Sleep_ with me tonight, Anders. _Just_ sleep. Please. I _need_ you to be there, with me, even if I cannot allow myself to do anything else. After everything that's happened the last few days..." his voice trailed off, then resumed again, a faint whisper. "Stay with me. Please."

Anders smiled warmly at him. "Yes," he said, simply, and leaned forward, brushing a chaste kiss over the other man's cheek, his hand tightening over Sebastian's, where it still lay over his heart.

* * *

Zevran closed the door and dropped the bar in its brackets with a great sense of relief. The too-long day was finally coming to an end. Days, rather... he had had no sleep the night before, thanks to his lengthy scouting expedition in this self-same house.

He turned, and smiled tiredly at the sight of Fenris sitting nervously on the edge of the bed, still dressed in his armour, staring down at the floor. Brooding again. He walked over, reaching out to gently run his fingers through the other elf's fine white hair, tightening his grip just enough to coax him into tilting his head back and looking up at Zevran.

"What is wrong, _mi corazón?_ " he asked quietly, moving his hand to lightly cup the side of Fenris' face.

" _I_ am what is wrong," Fenris said, bitterly. "You have seen now what a monster I am. What Danarius' foul magic has made of me."

Zevran tilted his head curiously. "A monster? No. You are no more a monster than I am."

Fenris scowled and looked away. "Do not say that. I am a weapon, something made only for killing..."

Zevran laughed, then laughed harder at Fenris' offended look. "Oh, my friend, what do you think _I_ am? I, too, have been trained to be a tool, killing at other's orders. But I am a weapon that has turned and cut off my bearer's hand, and now controls myself. Are you not the same? You killed this Danarius, did you not?"

Fenris frowned. "I... yes," he said uncertainly.

"And with these so-beautiful tattoos of yours you saved us today; when all others were enthralled, you remained free. _You_ remained in control of yourself. _You_ saved us. Not Danarius. Not his magic. _You_."

Zevran sighed softly. "We are both monsters, perhaps. But there are far worse monsters out in the world than us. Magisters. Darkspawn. Abominations. Madmen." He reached down, and picked up the hand that Fenris had killed the blood mage with earlier, and looked questioningly at him. "Do you worry that I will fear you because of what you can do with this hand? But this hand can save as well as kill, as you saved Anders with it. And it can save _by_ killing, as when you killed today and saved us all. No, Fenris – I am not scared of what you can do with these hands. No more than you should be scared of what I can do with mine, which have killed so many hundreds of beings."

He lifted the hand further, and kissed the back of Fenris' gauntlet, then gently began removing it. Fenris watched him in silent fascination as Zevran pressed a second kiss against the back of his bare hand. "You are no monster, Fenris," Zevran said huskily. "You are wholly beautiful to me, in every part of your body, in every skill you possess, in every part of your being."

"Show me," Fenris whispered. He shivered, then pulled off his other gauntlet, and reached up to pull Zevran's head down for a kiss. " _Show me_ ," he repeated.

Zevran nodded, and joined him on the bed.


	93. Sweet Comfort

Anders went into his own room to change into his nightclothes. He waited a while to make sure Sebastian had had sufficient time to change as well before finally walking over to the connecting door. He hesitated, torn between knocking and just going ahead and opening it, then drew a deep steadying breath and pushed it open.

Sebastian was standing near the bed, looking as hesitant as Anders felt, dressed in his own nightshirt and knee-length loose breeches, his hairy shins and bare feet looking faintly absurd. It made Anders glad that his own breeches were ankle-length, hiding his own skinny, scarred legs; he was lean where Sebastian was muscular, and he didn't think the comparison would be a flattering one. Anders hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, as the two of them studied each other silently.

Finally a faint smile lifted one corner of Sebastian's lips, bringing out his dimple. "This is awkward, isn't it?"

Anders smiled, and ducked his head. "A little," he agreed.

"You can change you mind if you want," Sebastian offered softly.

Anders quickly raised his head to meet Sebastian's eyes again. "Never," he said firmly. He glanced over his shoulder at his pets; Ashes curled in the middle of the narrow bed, head upright but eyes shut, claws of one forepaw working in and out of the quilt. The two dogs, both watching him attentively, Ganwyn sitting upright but leaning forward as if just waiting the signal to follow him. He smiled, and gave the whistle that meant 'stay', then turned away and walked into Anders' room, leaving the door open behind him.

He slowed to a stop near Sebastian, the two studying each other again. After a moment Sebastian raised his hand, holding it out in front of Anders' chest, where he'd been touching earlier. "The arrow... could I see..." he asked hesitantly.

Anders nodded, and lifted the hem of his nightshirt, holding it up high enough in front to expose his chest, revealing the small scar that was all that was left to mark where the arrow had almost killed him.

Sebastian hesitantly reached out, touching the faint mark with his fingertips, and sighed in relief. "Good," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I was so worried... and then to just have to _leave_ , without knowing if you would live or die..." he broke off, blinking rapidly for a moment. "Thank you. I needed to see that it was truly healed," he said, letting his hand drop away.

Anders nodded and let the hem of his nightshirt fall back down. They both looked away from each other, unsure of how to deal with their turbulent emotions.

"Well. I suppose we should try and sleep," Sebastian said with a crooked smile, and moved to lie down on the bed. Anders nodded, and walked around to the other side, climbing in as well. They busied themselves with getting in under the sheets and making themselves comfortable, ending lying on their sides facing each other, foot or two apart, studying each other's faces again.

Anders took note of the dark smudges under Sebastian's eyes, the lines of pain and grief still marking his face. He found himself reaching out before he could stop himself, touching his fingertips to the curve of Sebastian's cheekbone. "You look like you need sleep," he said softly.

Sebastian lay still, watching him. "Aye. I'm not sure if I can, right now," he said. And told Anders about the night before; his fears that Johanna could take his dreaming mind, how he'd fought so long to stay awake, Zevran's visit, the change of rooms, how he'd pinched and pinched himself and finally succumbed. How he'd gone to sleep his own man, and awoken hers. "I am scared to sleep again now," he finally finished in a whisper, and fell silent for a moment.

Anders' hand had fallen away from Sebastian's face during the lengthy telling; it lay now between them, Sebastian holding it tightly between both of his, like a man holding onto a life-line. Sebastian looked down at his hands, seeming to become aware of his bruising grip only then. He loosened his hold, but didn't release Anders' hand, instead massaging it between his own, before he continued speaking. "Until she died, I didn't even _know_ I was being controlled," he said quietly, and frowned in thought for a moment. "It was... terrifying, once I regained my own mind. Sickening. Was it like that with you and Justice? Could you tell what thoughts were yours, and what his, or was it... muddled?"

Anders frowned. "A bit of both. There were times, especially at the beginning, when he felt very much separate from me. I knew my thoughts and beliefs, and they weren't the same as his, even on things that we agreed on. But the longer we were together... it _leaked_. Like if you drop a dollop of oil paint in water; they will not mix. But over time the colour of the paint will tint the water, as the pigments leech imperceptibly from one to the other. I think before the end many of my thoughts and beliefs were no longer entirely my own. I have had to spend a lot of time over the last year, trying to sort out what was me, what was him, what was both of us."

He fell silent for a very long moment, eyes staring off into the distance, then spoke again, very quietly, his hand tightening on Sebastian's now. "The thought that he might return, that I might loose the inviolability of my mind a second time, lose my _self_ – it is terrifying."

Sebastian nodded. "Yes," he agreed. After a while he lifted one of his hands, reached out and combing his fingers tenderly through Anders' hair. "You are a very different man now from the Anders I knew in Kirkwall," he whispered, almost wonderingly.

"Yes," Anders agreed in turn, and smiled, just slightly. "As are you."

Sebastian smiled back, amused. "Perhaps. I, too, have had to do a lot of thinking over the last year. The last year, and more. I was a fool in my youth; careless, heedless, thinking only of my self – my own anger, my own pleasure, my own wants and likes and dislikes. My time in the chantry changed me; it taught me to look beyond myself. To care for those who needed help, to defend those who needed protection, to place the needs of others before my own. I am thankful for the time I spent in the chantry; I went in a spoiled, petulant boy, and left it a man, one perhaps worthy of being Prince for my people. But... it is time to put the chantry behind me for good and all now. I _must_ seek release from my vows, to be free to work whole-heartedly for Starkhaven."

He smiled slightly, and reached out again to touch his hand to Anders' face. "Part of that is my being selfish. I want you in my life, Anders. More than just that; I want _you_." He slid closer in the bed, and kissed Anders. A long kiss, and tender, but without heat.

Anders smiled warmly at him when it ended, looking almost as exulted as he had on that snowy night when Sebastian had first confessed that he cared for the other man. "I want you, too," he answered, voice a growling whisper that sent a shiver right down Sebastian's spine, and a warmth to his belly. Anders removed his hand from Sebastian's loose grasp, squirming closer so he could cup both his hands around Sebastian's face. "I will wait," he whispered, and kiss him in turn.

For a long time they just lay there, looking at each other, exchanging tender kisses and repeatedly touching each other's face, or hair, or neck. Soft, caressing touches, as brief and tender as their kisses. Saying with lips and hands and eyes all the things they couldn't yet say with words.

Finally Anders sighed, and moved a little away from Sebastian in the bed again. They lay there, still studying each other's faces, both smiling now, relaxed and content.

"Sleep," Anders said gently, weaving their hands back together between them. Sebastian smiled, and shut his eyes. And slept.


	94. Grief

Sebastian smiled, when the first thing he saw on waking was Anders' sleeping face, just inches from his own. At some time in the night they'd released each other's hands; Anders now had one hand tucked beneath his cheek, palm-down, the other resting on its back between them, fingers curled. Sebastian lay still, looking at things like the curve of his eyelashes – darker than his hair – and the length of his fingers. He was looking a little gaunt again; he must not have been eating properly the last few days. Small wonder, with things as crazed as they had been. And undoubtedly healing himself, and then all the healing yesterday, had taken considerable energy out of him.

A faint whine drew Sebastian's attention. He lifted his head, and saw Ganwyn sitting on the floor on Anders' side of the bed, his chin resting on the mattress. He gave Sebastian a pleading look. The cat was also in the room, he saw, curled up on the bed behind Anders' bent knees.

Sebastian smiled, and silently patted the sheets. Ganwyn promptly jumped up onto the bed, moving to stand in the gap between the two men and licking frantically at their faces. Anders woke with a laugh at the assault, grinning as he dug his fingers into Ganwyn's ruff and gave him a good scratching. The dog finally calmed down and flopped down between the two men. Ashes had vanished, no doubt annoyed by the dog's sudden entry to the bed.

"Good morning," Sebastian said, grinning at Anders.

"Sleep well?" Anders asked, a grin also curving his lips.

"Very," Sebastian said, then sighed. "And now for a long day of hard work," he said, and leaned close enough to lightly kiss Anders before rolling over and getting out of bed.

Anders smiled, and lay there a moment longer, still scratching Ganwyn's neck, before getting up also. "Well. I suppose I should go dress," he said, stretching for a moment before moving off. "See you at breakfast?" he asked over his shoulder.

Sebastian nodded, and watched the mage walk off to his own room, Ganwyn following on his heels, tail waving slowly back and forth. Once the door had closed behind him, Sebastian turned away and dug through his bags – all the things he'd left behind at the estate having been brought along by his guards – and changed into his armour. He wished he didn't think it would be necessary, but there was still much to do before he'd be willing to consider the manor secure.

It was a long day, starting with breakfast snatched while he talked with Anders, Fenris, Zevran, and Dale – the elves having also opted to continue wearing their armour today, he noted – after which there was considerable work to oversee and decisions to make. The remainder of the manor needed to be searched, the bodies removed, the mad captured and taken to where they could be cared for, the merely frightened reassured and given work to keep them busy. There was no shortage of work to be done.

He visited his young cousin in mid-afternoon. Anders was there, as well as a pair of guards, and the only one of the children's nurses who'd survived Goren's final madness; the woman whose cheek had been laid open the day before, the wound now healed to nothing but a thin red weal following Anders' ministrations. Sebastian wasn't sure he trusted her as a nurse, not when she'd abandoned her own charge to flee the carriage, but she was at least a familiar face for the boy.

Sebastian stood just inside the doorway with Anders, and watched Ewan sitting up in his bed, playing listlessly with a toy. The boy was very subdued; understandably so as the only survivor of Goren Vael's family. Only survivor and now, Sebastian supposed, his own heir as the closest blood-relative he had left, at least among those bearing the Vael surname. Likely there were some cousins with stronger blood-ties, descendants of those female relatives who'd married into other families. He should have his archivist research the matter, he supposed.

The boy had his mother's black hair and darker green eyes, but his father's pale skin, dotted with freckles over the bridge of a very Vael nose. His features were certainly in the Vael mold; apart from colouration his face looked much like a younger copy of Sebastian's own.

"How much does he remember?" he asked Anders, barely breathing the words.

Anders responded in a whisper. "I don't really know. He does remember that something bad happened yesterday, but the details..." he frowned, and shrugged.

Sebastian nodded. Ewan glanced up from his playing, and stilled, looking curiously at Sebastian. Sebastian walked over, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hello, Ewan," he said. "We haven't met before. I'm a cousin of yours – my name is Sebastian. Sebastian Vael."

Ewan studied his face solemnly, then nodded, looking back down to his toy for a moment, before looking up at Sebastian. "Where's my nurse?" he asked, and glanced uneasily at the female servant. "She's _Joana's_ nurse, not mine."

"I'm sorry, Ewan – your nurse died," Sebastian said quietly.

The boy frowned, staring down at his toy again, turning it over once or twice in his hands. "She won't be coming back?" he asked after a while, lip trembling. "Or... or the twins?"

"No, Ewan. They won't be coming back."

The boy stared down at his toy for a very long time, then put it aside and curled up on his side, turning his face away from Sebastian, into his pillow. Sebastian suspected he was crying and didn't want anyone to see. "I think I want my nap now," Ewan said, voice muffled.

Sebastian nodded. "I'll come see you again later," he said quietly.

Ewan didn't say anything, just lay there unmoving as Sebastian left the room.

* * *

Fenris trailed along behind Sebastian, out into the back courtyard where the pyres had been built. There as a large one, set out in a long arc, with the wrapped bodies of all the servants and guards who'd died the day before lid out on it. At least, of those who had left a body; the people Johanna had killed to fuel her magic had not left behind identifiable remains. On the inside of the arc was a much smaller pyre, with four bodies on it, two adult sized, two the saddeningly small shapes of babies.

The surviving guards and servants – both Sebastian's and Goren's – stood in two large groups to either side, there to witness the burning, one group composed of Sebastian's people, the other of Goren's.

Sebstian's group was the last to emerge and take their places, Sebastian leading young Ewan by the hand. The prince looked tired and saddened; the child frightened. Fenris, Zevran and Anders followed him. The three of them came to a stop midway between the two groups. Sebastian continued forward, to where a cleric summoned from the nearest chantry – a small rural one, in a town some miles from the estate – stood waiting.

He and the boy stopped once they reached her, and after exchanging nods with Sebastian, the cleric turned away and did a reading from the Chant of Light. A long one; she started with a reading from Transfigurations, rather than the short excerpt from Trials that was usual for funerals.

_Oh Maker, hear my cry:_  
 _Guide me through the blackest nights,_  
 _Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked,_  
 _Make me to rest in the warmest places._

_O Creator, see me kneel:_  
 _For I walk only where You would bid me,_  
 _Stand only in places You have blessed,_  
 _Sing only the words You place in my throat._

_My Maker, know my heart:_  
 _Take from me a life of sorrow,_  
 _Lift me from a world of pain,_  
 _Judge me worthy of Your endless pride._

When the readings were finally over, a great silence fell. Sebastian accepted a lighted torched from one of his guards, and walked forward, Ewan's hand in his. They stopped before the smaller of the pyres. The bodies had been wrapped so that the faces were still visible. Ewan stood gazing at them silently for some time. Sebastian knelt down at his side. Fenris could see his lips moving, but not hear what he was saying to the child.

After a while Ewan nodded, and Sebastian held the torch in front of them, the child's hand reaching to hold it just above the prince's. Together they tipped it down, touching it to the base of the pyre. With a soft whoosh the tinder set among the logs caught. Sebastian and Ewan retreated from the pyre, stopping by the cleric to turn back and watch.

Several guards and servants walked to the longer pyre, carrying more torches, and soon it was burning as well. Sebastian had crouched down and was talking to the boy again, their heads close together. Then he put his arms around Ewan, the child's arms rising to lock around his neck, head resting on the prince's shoulder. Sebastian rose to his feet, and carried the boy back over to where Fenris and the others waited. As they drew closer, Fenris could hear the child's sobs over the crackling of the flames.

Fenris swallowed at the expression on Sebastian's face, as he cradled the crying boy in his arms. Grief, and a fierce protectiveness. They silently returned to the house, the guards and servants following in equal quiet, only those who would tend the pyres until they burnt out remaining behind.


	95. Departure and Return

All told, they were at Goren's estate for four days before they were finally able to leave; it had taken that long for word to reach Starkhaven, and for additional guards and a force of templars and a pair of clerics to arrive to take over dealing with the aftermath of Johanna and Goren's deaths. After they'd arrived, Sebastian had needed to explain events in the area to them, and assign his guards to take over the manor for the foreseeable future – he'd need to determine a proper caretaker for it at some point in time, or perhaps sell it off, as the crown held far more properties now that it had family members needing them.

He formally asked the clerics to oversee an investigation into Johanna's activities, in partnership with Guard-Captain Dale, who he was leaving as the senior guardsman on site, after promoting him for his role in Sebastian's rescue.

At least the delay had given him a chance to become better acquainted with young Ewan. It had broken his heart, seeing the little boy's expression as he'd looked at the bodies of his parents and younger siblings, and asked if they were really dead. At least when his own parents and siblings had been killed he'd been a man grown, able to understand what had happened. Well, perhaps _understand_ wasn't quite the right word; even now he found it hard to fathom the reasons behind Johain Harriman's destruction of his family, or her niece's more recent actions. He could only believe that they'd been the sort of people who looked at rulership and saw the power and the privilege, and ignored the duty, the _responsibility_ , that paid for it.

As Ewan had cried in his arms afterwards, he'd promised himself that he'd protect the boy, and see him raised properly, as befitted a Vael. He did not miss noting the irony that if he did make Ewan his heir, it would someday mean that Johain and Johanna would have succeeded in putting their blood on the throne of Starkhaven. But it was the boy's Vael blood that concerned him, not that of his mother and great-aunt.

He'd spent part of each day since the funeral in the boy's company. Ewan had been shy of him at first; shy of everyone, surrounded as he was by strangers. It was Anders that had provided the breath-through in Sebastian's friendship with Ewan.

He'd had the boy brought to his office so that he could spend a little time with him, while remaining where he could be easily found by anyone needing to see him. It had been going poorly, him unsure of how to treat such a young child, Ewan unsure of what he thought of Sebastian. He'd just sat down on the floor, so he wouldn't loom over the child so much when talking with him, when Anders had breezed into the room to speak to him about something, accompanied by his cat and dogs. Ganwyn had bounded over, pleased to find one of his favourite people down on his own level for once, greeting Sebastian with enthusiasm – and a great deal of slobbery tongue – and he'd glanced up from laughingly fending off the hound to see Ewan actually smiling. He'd promptly engaged in a pretend-wrestling match with the dog, which had won him a great quantity of dog-hair all over his clothes, an eventual rescue by Haelioni, and laughter and giggles from Anders and Ewan.

He'd remained on the floor, afterwards, and introduced Ewan to the two dogs. The boy, it seemed, had seen dogs and cats before, but never been allowed to do anything more than watch them from a distance. All three of them – Sebastian, Anders, and Ewan – ended up spending some time down at floor level with the dogs and cat, Ewan obviously fascinated with the chance to touch and pet them, and delighted by both Ganwyn's friendly enthusiasm and Ashes' rumbling purr. Sebastian put "get Ewan a pet" near the top of his mental list for things to take care of once they returned to the city.

After that Ewan seemed to have decided that he liked both Sebastian and Anders, and was always happy to see either of them. Sebastian, for his part, was quickly falling for the charm of the young boy. He was quite pleased to spend as much time with him as he could find time for, in among all the other things he needed to take care of while they wait for the guards and templars to arrive from Starkhaven.

He'd had Ewan to lunch with himself and the others in his suite their third day there; the boy had been pleased to see Anders and his pets, and initially apprehensive of the two elves. Zevran had won him over with a silly joke and some flashy coin tricks, cemented when he'd given the boy a silver piece and shown him how to make it disappear and reappear. Ewan and Fenris, on the other hand, had spent the meal exchanging looks – Fenris eyeing the boy uneasily, Ewan staring in fascination at his tattoos – then after the meal the boy had finally worked up the courage to ask Fenris a question about them. Fenris had treated him and his question with the same reserved, thoughtful manner he used with his three friends, and Ewan had apparently decided the elf was at least tentatively acceptable.

The guards and templars arrived that afternoon, and by lunch the fourth day Sebastian was satisfied that everything would be properly looked after. By then he was more than ready to return to the city, having been absent twice as long as he'd originally planned to be. He gave the orders for their departure before going upstairs for lunch with Ewan and his friends, and by the time the five of them had eaten, all of their things had been packed and carried down to be put on the horses.

He'd already decided against bringing any of Goren and Johanna's servants to the city with him; he'd rather have servants he was sure were dependable around him, ones from his own estate. Accordingly, when he'd sent word to his servants that had been left behind there, letting them know he'd been rescued and that they could return safely to the city, he'd enclosed a request for them to locate a dependable woman from the village to be a nurse for his cousin.

This also had the benefit that the only people in his train for the journey back to the city were his guards – all mounted – Anders, Fenris, Zevran, and Ewan. He planned to have Ewan ride in front of himself or his friends, and that eliminated the need for any waggon or carriage, so they'd be able to travel at a considerably better speed. He suspected that Ewan wouldn't want to ride in a carriage right now anyway, and Anders had agreed when he'd asked the mage's opinion on the matter. The boy was small and light enough that it wouldn't be any real burden for any of the horses to carry him as well as their normal rider.

Ewan was apprehensive at first when he was led out to the manor courtyard and saw everyone mounting up, but once Sebastian had mounted and the boy was handed up, he quickly changed to being delighted; at being with Sebastian, at being on horseback, and with the view he had from so high up off the ground. Sebastian just hoped he'd remain happy for the entire trip; even at a faster pace, it wouldn't be until some time the next afternoon before they arrived home in Starkhaven, assuming the weather held.

Sebastian felt nothing but relief as he and his men finally quit the estate, though he didn't begin to really enjoy the ride until the ambush site itself was also behind them.

* * *

Anders glanced ahead at Sebastian's horse as they rode up the hill from the city gates to the castle. Ewan was perched in front of the prince again, having spent the morning riding along with Fenris and Zevran in turn. He was looking a little tired from the long journey, but otherwise seemed as happy to be on horseback as he'd been the day before. He looked around at the city with obvious interest and excitement, occasionally craning his head around to look up at Sebastian and ask him question. The prince was smiling, looking relaxed, as he answered the boy.

"I had forgotten how much energy the very young have," Zevran said quietly as he rode alongside Anders. "The boy looks almost as fresh now as when we set out this morning."

Anders grinned. "Yes, he'll have lots of energy, right up until he suddenly doesn't."

Fenris, riding the other side of Zevran, snorted in amusement. "He reminds me of a wind-up toy; all noise and busyness until his spring winds down, and then he just stops."

They reached the gates of the castle. It had been Ewan's home up until a year ago, but he didn't seem to particularly recognize the place; doubtless he'd been in the nursery for much of that time, and seen little to nothing of places like the courtyard.

Guard-Captain Cerin showed up at the main doors within minutes of their arrival, looking relieved to see them.

"Prince Vael," he said, saluting his commander. "I am pleased that you have returned safely."

Sebastian smiled down at the man. "As am I. Has there been any word of the servants I had taken with me?"

"Yes, m'Lord, they arrived back yesterday."

"Excellent," Sebastian said. By then Fenris had dismounted and moved to stand by the prince's horse. He handed Ewan down to the elf, then dismounted as well.

Servants had begun arriving by then, to carry off the luggage and take the horses to the stables. Sebastian took Ewan back from Fenris, then turned to speak to Cerin again. "The servants should have brought a new one from the village?"

"Aye, they did. A young woman and her daughter. I took the liberty of putting her in one of the small guest rooms until you've had a chance to interview her yourself."

Sebastian's eyebrows rose slightly. "Well, I suppose I should speak with her, then. But first I think this young demon needs to be put to bed," he said, smiling down at the boy in his arms, who now that they'd stopped moving had started to visibly flag. Sebastian looked around. "Anders – would you mind taking him up to my room and staying with him there while I sort out proper care for him?"

Anders smiled warmly at the prince, and accepted the half-asleep boy from his arms after shifting Ashes' carry-bag around to his back. "I'll keep an eye on him," he promised, and headed off indoors, his dogs and guards trailing behind.


	96. A Further Surprise

Sebastian filled Cerin in on the details of his unwanted adventure as the two of them walked upstairs to Sebastian's office, one of the servants having been sent off to fetch the young woman so that Sebastian could interview her. Cerin had departed and Sebastian had just had time to settle in behind his desk before the servant returned, the woman in tow.

She was a pretty young thing, in her mid to late twenties he guessed, with the red-brown hair that was so common in the village, neatly braided back. She had lightly tanned skin, doubtless from working in the fields over the spring festival, and dark blue eyes. He rose from behind his desk and smiled at her, gesturing for her to take a seat. "Good afternoon, miss. I'm Sebastian, as you undoubtedly already knew, and you are...?"

She smiled shyly at him. "Meridwen Taylor, m'Lord," she answered in a soft voice as she sat down, her back stiffly upright and her hands resting in her lap.

"Pleased to meet you, Meridwen. Now, was it explained to you why we needed another servant?"

"Aye, m'Lord, I was told you needed a nurse for your young cousin, him that's the son of Lord Goren and Lady Johanna," she said composedly. "Grandfather said I should come and do it."

"Grandfather? Who is... oh," he said, and smiled in delight. "Is the old father your grandfather?"

She smiled charmingly. "Yes, m'Lord. My mother was the second daughter of his third wife."

Sebastian smiled warmly back at her. "Well, if _he_ chose you to come as nurse, I have little doubt you'll do very well for the position. So there's just you and your daughter? Are you widowed?"

"No m'Lord. Never married. My daughter is festival born, seven years ago this spring."

"Seven... good, she's of an age to be a playmate for Ewan then. He's five," he clarified. "I suppose I should meet her as well."

Meridwen nodded. "I thought you might want to. She's waiting outside the door."

"Well, fetch her in then," Sebastian invited.

She nodded and rose, walking to the door and disappearing outside for a moment, before returning with the girl, the two walking hand in hand.

The daughter had her mother's red-brown hair, in a cloud of loose curls tumbling to the small of her back. Pale skin, with a dusting of freckles on her cheeks and nose; bright turquoise eyes, and a feminine version of the Vael features. He drew in a startled breath. The old father had sent him more that just a good nurse, he suspected. He darted a look at the mother, saw his answer in the careful way she was watching his reaction, even before he spoke.

"Harvestfest, eight years ago... would it have been Nicolas who was First Harvester that year?" he asked slowly, as he rose and walked around the desk to take a closer look at the girl. Those turquoise eyes were the biggest clue; Nicolas, his middle brother, had had just such eyes.

"Aye, m'Lord," Meridwen said quietly. "Though I have no proof of it. The old father would have let the family know, when she was born, but by then... well, Nicolas and the others were all dead."

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. The paternity of the festival born children was rarely known, but in the rare case where it was known, and connected to the Vaels... well, such children were almost never formally acknowledged, of course, but they and their mother were usually given something; a stipend, a dowry, sponsorship to an apprenticeship, whatever seemed suitable. And the child would of course be helped to a good living of their own later in life; the Vaels did right by their known by-blows.

"As far as I am concerned, she is her own proof, if any is needed," he said, and looked questioningly at the girl. "And your name is?"

"Niawen Taylor, ser," she said shyly.

Sebastian smiled warmly at her. "I am pleased to meet you, Niawen," he said, then looked back to Meridwen. "I must remember to let the old father know how delighted I am with this surprise. But why didn't he let me know earlier...?"

"Grandfather didn't think it was wise to let anyone know, as long as Goren Vael lived; he didn't trust the man, after his sudden elevation."

"Mmm," Sebastian grunted, nodding. He could certainly agree with the old father's thinking, though it was more the man's wife that had been to fear than the man himself. Someone who'd been willing to kill so many to take the throne of Starkhaven would likely have thought nothing of killing a bastard-born Vael, even if she was unacknowledged.

"Well. We will have to give thought to Niawen's future; but that can wait. For now, I am happy to accept you as Ewan's nurse. I would like the boy kept near me, rather than off in the old nursery; I was thinking of having one of the suites adjacent to my own refitted for the boy and yourself. I was planning to inspect them next, to choose one suitable – would you and Niawen like to come along and see them? It will be your home as well, for some years."

"Thank you, m'Lord, that is kind of you," she agreed. Sebastian smiled again, and led the way up to the family quarters. The two of them spent some time investigating the suites, settling on one that had a good-sized bedroom for the boy, with two smaller rooms – currently set up as a valet's room and a small study – that could be used as bedrooms for Meridwen and her daughter. The sitting room was large enough that it could serve for dining room, schoolroom, and playroom for the two children, and the suite had not one, but two bathing chambers, one off of the boy's room, and a second one shared by the two smaller rooms.

Sebastian gave the necessary orders for the rooms to be opened up, cleaned and aired and properly refurnished, and invited Meridwen and her daughter to visit his suite after breakfast the next morning so that they might meet Ewan. "He's sleeping now; the journey tired him out," he explained.

Meridwen agreed, and then headed back to her own temporary quarters. Sebastian watched the two women walk off, and found himself feeling well-pleased with the old father.

He returned to his suite himself after that, lost in thought. Well; not just one potential heir now, but two, if he wished to formally acknowledge Niawen and could work out an acceptable way of doing so, when his brother was no longer on hand to do it himself. As few Vaels as remained now, it likely should be done, just to lessen the chance that illness, accident, or malice could wipe out the Vael line entirely.

Anders was seated in the sitting room, reading a book, Ashes in his lap and Haelioni stretched out nearby. He looked up and smiled welcomingly when Sebastian entered the room.

"Where'd you put him?" Sebastian asked quietly.

"Your bed, for now. Ganwyn's keeping him company."

Sebastian nodded. "Good. Do you mind keeping an eye on him for a while longer? I have a tremendous backlog of work to start catching up on, now that we're back."

"No, that's fine – though just for this afternoon, tomorrow morning I should be spending time in the clinic."

"Aye, that's no problem," Sebastian said, walking over to him. "We have a nurse for him, she can take over tomorrow," he said, and bent down to kiss Anders. "I'll tell you all about her at dinner," he said, and headed off to his study.

* * *

The introductions between Ewan and Meridwen went well; the boy was shy at first, but soon relaxed enough to being playing with Niawen. Relieved, Sebastian headed off to his study and spent the morning working through the backlog of paperwork. Shortly before lunch a servant came in, and handed him a folded sheet of parchment.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, then unfolded the sheet, and smiled. From Anders; a pair of sketches. The top one was of Ewan, sleeping with his arm draped over Ganwyn. The bottom one was of Sebastian laughing while Ganwyn licked his chin. Rather diplomatically, he'd only been drawn from the neck up, apart from the hand that was raised to fend off the dog, so the fact that he'd been in his nightclothes at the time wasn't apparent. He put the page aside where he could glance at it while working, a smile playing about his lips as he finished his work.

Ewan, Meridwen and Niawen joined Sebastian and his friends for lunch. It made for a very crowded table, with people having to watch what they did with their elbows, but a pleasant one. Meridwen sat between the two children, with Fenris next to Ewan and Sebastian next to Niawen. Sebastian introduced the nurse and her daughter to his friends. Anders looked interestedly at Niawen, having already been told of her parentage at dinner the night before; Fenris and Zevran had not yet been told, but by the thoughtful way Zevran was looking between Sebastian and Niawen, the prince guessed that he'd at least noted the strong familial resemblance. Fenris was busy listening to Ewan tell him a rambling story about what the boy had been up to that morning, and didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual.

Meridwen was hesitant about speaking up at first, until Anders asked her how the old father was doing, and she smilingly filled him in on her grandfather's reaction to Sebastian's kidnapping. The friendly attention the others gave to her while she was talking seemed to calm her nerves, and she was at least cautiously friendly with them by the end of the meal.

Sebastian saw his friends off, then turned to Ewan. "Well, there's something you and I need to take care of," he told the boy, and then smiled at Meridwen. "I'll be keeping him busy for the next hour or two. Feel free to take a break, if you wish."

She nodded, and left, taking Niawen with her. Sebastian saw the boy dressed for outdoors, then took him downstairs, and around to the kennels. He didn't bring him into the main kennel building, thinking that so many large dogs might be frightening to the boy, but instead brought him around to a entrance to a smaller building; one where the weaned puppies were kept while it was being decided if they were good enough to be worth keeping as breeders or working dogs for the castle itself, or should be culled and sent off to one of the lesser establishments.

There were three litters of puppies in it right now, two of deerhounds like Ganwyn, and one of wolfhounds like Haelioni. Ewan looked entirely delighted when he was told that he could go in the pen and play with them. Sebastian and the kennel-master hung back and watched while the boy rolled around in the straw with the puppies, giggling as they pounced on and licked him, treating him much as they would another puppy. That eventually led to a game of Ewan running around while the puppies chased after him; being sight-hounds, chase-the-moving-thing was one of their very favourite games.

The puppies managed to thoroughly tire Ewan out eventually. The boy sat down against the wall of the pen and watched the puppies playing. He was yawning now, tired out from playing; he'd be ready for a good nap after Sebastian took him back indoors. Some of the puppies were tiring now too, and were piling up in one corner of the pen to take a nap themselves. One of the wolfhound puppies romped over to Ewan, snuffling at his face and trying to entice him into playing again. Ewan giggled and fended him off. The puppy gave up and flopped down, forequarters and head in Ewan's lap, rooting its nose against his belly while the boy laughed and giggled some more and then began petting him, smiling contentedly at the puppy.

Sebastian and the kennel-master exchanged a look, both smiling over the sweet picture the young boy and the puppy made. Sebastian walked over to the pen, taking a closer look at the puppy. Male, and all giant paws and big head, his coat a warm red-gold brindle with white on his belly, chest, neck and front paws.

"Ewan... time for us to go," Sebastian called.

The boy looked up, then rose to his feet and started over to the gate in. The puppy followed along. Ewan stopped near the gate, looking down at the puppy with longing clearly visible on his face.

"Would you like to have that puppy?" Sebastian asked quietly.

Ewan looked up, first surprised and unsure, then delighted. "I can have it?" he asked. "Really?"

"Really and truly, if you want him. Or would you prefer one of the others, maybe?"

"No!" Ewan exclaimed. "I like this one!"

Sebastian smiled, and opened the gate. "Well, then bring him on out. He's yours now. You'll have to pick a name for him, and help in looking after him and training him in proper manners as he grows up, all right?"

Ewan beamed happily, and came out of the pen. The puppy hesitated at the gate, but hurried out when Ewan, on Sebastian's suggestion, called for him to come. Sebastian thanked the kennel-master, and he and Ewan returned to the keep, the puppy trotting along between them, looking excitedly around. Sebastian had to pick the puppy up and carry him once they got inside; he was a little too small to manage all the stairs yet, though that would likely change quickly.

Sebastian saw the two settled for a nap together – he'd had a cot brought in for Ewan to use until his rooms were ready for him – and then returned to his work in his study.


	97. My Brave One

"Zevran... do you have a minute?" Sebastian called, raising a hand in greeting when he saw the elf walking down the hallway toward him.

Zevran nodded agreeably; it was some time yet until Fenris would be back from his morning ride. "Of course. What do you wish?"

"Just to talk for a little while. Join me in my suite?"

The assassin followed Sebastian to his rooms. The prince's suite was a lot quieter since Ewan and his puppy, Tighe, had been moved down the hallway into his own suite with Meridwen and Niawen the day before. Sebastian took a seat, and gestured for Zevran to sit as well.

"What would you like to discuss?" Zevran asked curiously once he'd made himself comfortable.

"I thought that I should talk with you about your plans, now that you're almost healed." Sebastian said easily. "Not that I want to rush you out the door or anything like that!" he hastened to reassure the elf. "Far from it. I just was wondering if you intend to move on again – following after Soria, or returning to Amaranthine, or whatever else you cared to do – or if perhaps you'd be interested in staying on here? It has not escaped my attention that you and Fenris appear to be in a relationship..."

Zevran tilted his head. "Yes, that is true," he agreed cautiously. "I will admit I am in no rush to move on; from what little Soria and Hawke said about their plans in my hearing, I believe the mission they went on is a lengthy one, and not knowing what their ultimate destination was, I have no chance of catching up with them now. And while I do have several good friends among the wardens at Vigil's Keep, well..." he paused, then shrugged. "There is no one I have any particularly close relationship with, that I would wish to hurry back to. And, yes, you are right in that Fenris and I have become... attached."

"Good. In that case, would you be interested in staying on here? I have some work I could use your skills for. As an added incentive for you to stay on as long as you wish to, not as requirement for it," the prince added with a smile. "You are welcome to stay on as long as you like, whether or not you care to accept the offer of work."

"My interest would depend on the work; I am very much an _ex_ -Crow, which means I do not generally take on assassinations any more, unless of course it's someone that I myself believe will do more for the world if they are removed from it." Zevran said cautiously.

Sebastian laughed. "No fear; it is not killing I wish you to take on. No, it is your skills in _preventing_ such that I wish to call on. An extension of the work we had you do in making Anders' security so much better."

"Oh?" Zevran asked curiously.

"Yes. Several things. I want to be sure Ewan, Meridwen, and Niawen are well-protected, especially Ewan, who may attract injurious attention because of his parentage. I'd like you to review the security arrangements for his quarters in particular, as you did for Anders' cottage, and of the areas elsewhere in the castle that he or I commonly use or traverse as well. Leading to a more general review of the castle as a whole; I wish to avoid the possibility of someone repeating the grab for power that Johain Harriman and her niece orchestrated, by trying to kill off myself or my heir."

Sebastian frowned thoughtfully. "I would also like your help in selecting a personal bodyguard for Ewan; like Anders he will be attended by castle guards whenever he is out of his suite, but I think it might also be beneficial for him to have a guard or two who is as much an older companion or friend to him as a bodyguard, and is always on attendance on him, even within his own quarters, so that even if someone made it past the regular guards and into his room, there would be someone on hand to defend him and hopefully raise an alarm. I have heard many nobles in Antiva employ such a practise for the protection of their children...?"

"Yes. It is not always effective, of course, since it is only the less skilled Crows that will usually be willing to take on such positions. But you will not wish a Crow anyway, but rather someone with suitable skills for detecting and stopping such a person. The puppy, by the way, is a good start; he will notice things that a human might miss, and being territorial and protective, undoubtedly bark."

Sebastian smiled. "It was not that which I was thinking of when I decided Ewan needed a pet of his own, but I am glad to know the puppy will serve an additional purpose beyond being a companion for the boy."

Zevran nodded, and looked thoughtful for a while. Sebastian waited patiently.

"Do you have any candidates already in mind for the boy's bodyguard?" Zevran asked after a few minutes.

Sebastian shook his head. "I thought I should rely on your judgement in the matter, if you were willing to take on the task."

Zevran smiled in amusement, and shook his head. "You trust me with far too much for someone you barely know," he scolded gently.

Sebastian smiled in turn. "No – I trust the opinions of those who trust you; Anders calls you a friend, and says you are a good man at heart. You have been a companion of the Hero of Ferelden since the Blight years, and she clearly valued you. _Fenris_ sees something trustworthy in you, and I know well how difficult it is to win his trust. And in the brief time I have known you, I have come to feel you are a man worthy of respect and trust as well."

Zevran grinned, looking pleased and amused. "All right. I will do it. It will take me some time to locate suitable candidates."

Sebastian nodded. "Good. My thanks for your help with this. We should discuss your pay."

Zevran smiled. "Can we discuss that another time? I am in no rush; I am well-housed and well-fed and have few needs at the moment. And Fenris will be back from his ride shortly."

Sebastian grinned. "And you wish to be there to meet him when he returns. Go ahead. As you say, there is no rush."

Zevran rose and bowed. "My thanks. I will let you know when I have found candidates for the boy's bodyguard, and also what my evaluation and suggested improvements are of security," he said, and then hurried off to make his way to the stables.

* * *

Fenris sipped at his glass of wine, watching Zevran thoughtfully. The other elf was sitting curled up in his own chair, chin on one hand and glass of wine forgotten on the table beside him, gazing into the fire. He'd been very quiet this evening, after being quite talkative earlier in the day, full of news about Sebastian's offer of work for him. Fenris was glad that Zevran had accepted Sebastian's offer, that the assassin planned to remain for a while longer in Starkhaven, rather than leaving as soon as he was healed enough to travel.

He hadn't realized just how much he wanted Zevran to remain here, until he'd thought of what it would be like if he left. He couldn't imagine his life without the other elf in it. Or rather, he _could_ , and he didn't want that life. He wanted Zevran to stay; to stay with _him_. And it bothered him that he didn't know if Zevran _wanted_ to stay with him, or was just staying on in Starkhaven because he had nothing else he particularly needed to do right now.

He knocked back the wine left in his glass, and poured himself a second drink, feeling increasingly ill-at-ease. He wondered if this was something he should ask Anders or Sebastian for advice about; this almost desperate unease he felt at the thought of the assassin leaving Starkhaven. Leaving _him_.

Abruptly he put down his wine glass and rose to his feet. Zevran looked up curiously as he stepped close. He leaned down, putting his fingers under Zevran's chin to tilt his head even further back, and kissed him greedily, sucking and nibbling on his lips, drawing the kiss out and out until Zevran made a hungry sound, as much growl as moan, and reached up to wind his fingers into Fenris' hair, rising up on his knees even as Fenris sank to perch one hip on the edge of the seat. He closed his own arms around the assassin, pulling him close as he let Zevran devour his mouth.

Finally Zevran drew back a little, looking at him searchingly, one hand gently brushing back the warrior's hair. "I take it you have had enough of idling by the fire for the evening?" Zevran asked, an amused smile curving his lips. "Shall we take this to the bedroom?"

Fenris nodded, and released Zevran, rising to his feet and moving a step back so that the other elf had room to stand up as well. Zevran smiled, and paused for a moment to rise up on tip-toe and brush another brief kiss over Fenris' lips, before turning and leading the way to his bedroom.

* * *

Zevran ran an admiring look over Fenris as the taller elf stretched out on the bed. As many times as he had seen him naked since that spectacular liaison in the stables at Sebastian's estate, the impact of Fenris' exotic beauty was just as powerful now as it had been the first time Zevran had seen him. The olive skin, the white hair, the long lean body wrapped in enigmatic tattoos, the green eyes, no longer wary around him, but inviting, dark with desire. Watching Fenris unselfconsciously displaying himself before him gave Zevran a very warm feeling, remembering how short a time ago it had been when Fenris had been deeply hesitant about any sort of intimacy. He had come such a long way already.

Tonight, Zevran decided, it was perhaps time to see if Fenris was ready to conquer one of his few remaining inhibitions. He smiled in anticipation, and leaned down to kiss the other elf, a gentle nibbling kiss, letting one hand come to rest on Fenris' chest.

He would take things slow, he decided, and get the warrior very excited before proceeding into new territory with him, hoping desire would help get Fenris past his fear. Accordingly he spent a considerable amount of time in kissing and touching the other elf, lengthy deep kisses and teasing touches, courting the other man's desire.

It was a sign of Fenris' trust that he did protest when Zevran brought him close to orgasm, only to back off and let his excitement subside again. Not once, but several times, using hands and mouth to excite Fenris until he was writhing on the bed, hands clenching the sheets, eyes shut and head arched back into the pillows, whimpering with want. Zevran oiled his hands, and gently, teasingly oiled Fenris, keeping his touch light as the warrior moaned and thrust up into his encircling hand, feet scrabbling for purchase against the sheets as he desperately sought enough stimulation to bring himself off.

Zevran quickly prepared himself with his other hand while the warrior was so distracted, then backed off again. Tears of frustration were leaking from Fenris' eyes, and he whimpered in confusion and need. Zevran crawled back up the bed to cuddle and soothe him, muttering endearments as he gently kissed his cheeks, stroked his hands along his neck and chest and arms.

"Shhhh, this time, I promise... it will be very good," he murmured in Fenris' ear. "Relax and trust me."

Fenris nodded, and hugged Zevran tightly for a moment, then lay back again, panting and trembling but doing as Zevran had asked – _trusting_ that the assassin would end the teasing torment this time.

Zevran moved to straddle him, leaning down to brush kisses along his collarbones, his hands stoking soothingly along the other elf's muscular chest and along his sides, working his way slowly down to his hips. He took Fenris in hand, gently stoking his oiled length, waiting and watching the other elf's face until Fenris was once again lost in sensation.

Very carefully he changed his own position, guiding Fenris into alignment with one hand as he quickly gave himself a final stretching with the other. And then he was sinking down onto Fenris, Fenris sliding slowly into him. Zevran bit down on his lower lip, keeping back his own moan of mingled pain and pleasure as he stretched to accommodate the other elf and then was filled by him, lowering himself down bit by bit. Fenris made a surprised sound, arching upwards, thrusting into him, and Zevran cried out in pleasure. Fenris thrust again, his own hands rising to clasp Zevran's hips.

For a moment it was _right_ , the two of them beginning to move together, and then Fenris moaned, not in pleasure, and cried out in panicked fear, flaring with blue light. Zevran found himself being shoved violently away, falling right off the bed. He managed to turn the fall into a tumble that brought him back to his feet, worriedly looking at Fenris.

The elf was curled up on his hands and knees, tightly tucked up in a ball, still glowing blue and shaking. Zevran scrambled back onto the bed, feeling devastated over having clearly upset the other elf. He crouched on the bed beside him, hesitating for a moment over whether or not it was safe to touch him.

"Fenris? Fenris, I am sorry, _mi querido_ , I did not mean to upset you," he said, and then wrapped his arms around Fenris' shoulders, loosely, hoping the warrior would see it for the comfort that was meant, not as constraint.

Fenris _moved_ , startlingly quickly, and for a moment Zevran worried that he had judged wrong again. He tensed, fighting back his own defensive instincts as the warrior pinned him to the bed, then recognized that Fenris had not moved to attack, but lunged into his arms looking for safety, for comfort. The warrior's arms were clenched tightly around Zevran's shoulders, his head buried against the assassin's shoulder as he wept.

Zevran folded his own arms around him, rubbing his hands in soothing circles on the other elf's back, muttering apologies and comforting words until he felt Fenris finally begin to relax, his trembling giving way to exhausted stillness. Finally the warrior drew and released a great breath, and raised his head. His eyes were reddened from crying, his face streaked with tears, his nose running. He looked so heartbroken that Zevran felt his own heart lurch in his chest, _hating_ himself for a moment for having so upset his belo... his friend.

"Sorry," Fenris said, voice hoarse. "I..."

"No, _mi corazón_ , it is I that should be apologizing, not you," Zevran interrupted him. "That was _my_ mistake, not yours. I _knew_ that was something you might have trouble with, and I did not warn you. It is my fault. I am the one that is sorry," he said remorsefully, and cupped his hands around Fenris' face, rubbing the tear-streaks away from the other elf's cheeks with his thumbs. "Can you forgive me?"

Fenris swallowed, then nodded. Zevran pulled his face down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then put his arms around him again. For a long while they just held on to each other, Fenris draped over top of Zevran, his head resting on the assassin's shoulder.

For all that it was not the most comfortable position in the world, Zevran was starting to drift off to sleep, and thought Fenris already had, before the other elf moved and he realized that he was, in fact, still wide awake, and had merely been lost in thought or memories for some time. Fenris shifted so that more of him was off of Zevran, just his head still resting on Zevran's shoulder, one arm draped across his chest. Zevran moved around, getting into a more comfortable position as well.

"Feeling better now?" he asked cautiously.

Fenris nodded. "Yes. Sorry for..."

"Sssh. No apologies from you. I have already said it is my fault." Zevran lightly scolded him.

Fenris snorted, then turned his head so that his chin, rather than his cheek, was resting on Zevran's chest. He studied Zevran's face for a moment, brow creasing just slightly. After a moment he flushed.

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, unable to keep an edge of amusement out of his voice.

Fenris smiled crookedly. "You."

"Oh? How so?"

Fenris' blush deepened. He squirmed around again, laying his head back down and curling up his legs, his arm tightening around Zevran in a brief hug. He remained silent for a little while, then finally spoke again, hesitantly.

"I sometimes have dreams about what happened to me, when I was Danarius' slave. Nightmares, of him and Hadriana, or the others they allowed to use me. Lately... sometimes..." he fell silent again, before burying his face against Zevran again.

The assassin could feel the heat of Fenris' blush against his own skin, and knew the warrior was trying to speak of something that disturbed him. He started rubbing his back again.

"Sometimes, I dream about you," Fenris finally said, barely whispering the words. "Doing... some of those things to me. And in my dream I know that if it's you, it will be fine, and I'm not frightened by it." He lifted his head again, looking determined now, moving his hand from where it lay on Zevran's chest to cup against the side of the assassin's face. "I want _that_. You taking me, not... the other. Could we try that?"

Zevran blinked, surprised. "We can try anything you want to, _mi valiente_."

"Now?" Fenris asked, almost plaintively.

Zevran frowned in mild concern. "Now? Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait for another night?"

"No," Fenris said, with surprising firmness. "Tonight. Please?"

Zevran smiled, and moved so that he could kiss Fenris, full on the lips and tender. "As you wish," he said softly, then smiled and held up one hand, finger raised. "But! We shall do this right. We shall start fresh, with a bath together in that sinfully large tub in the next room, and then once we're both clean and relaxed we will take things slowly and carefully. All right?"

Fenris nodded. The two climbed out of bed, and Zevran led the way to the bathing chamber. He quickly filled the tub, glad that he was in a part of the keep with proper plumbing. He added some fragrant oil to the water – his favourite scent of sandalwood with just a hint of musk – then stepped in first. He had Fenris sit in front of him, between his legs, so that he could hold him. They lay back and soaked together for a while, exchanging occasional gentle kisses. When the water started to cool, Zevran turned the tap with his foot, adding more hot water, then picked up a washcloth and soap and began washing the warrior, paying special attention to parts of Fenris where he knew the other elf liked being touched. Fenris clearly enjoyed that, and after a while growled, stole the washcloth, and turned around so that he was facing Zevran and could wash him. Zevran grinned and grabbed a second washcloth and they had some playful fun together, the two of them squirming around and competing to wash their favourite bits of each other.

Eventually the washcloths were abandoned, the two exchanging a lengthy kiss, Fenris' arms around Zevran's neck and Zevran's around his waist. They were both more than a little excited by all the slippery horseplay, their erections rubbing enjoyably together as the kiss went on and on. If it was not for knowing how uncomfortable sex in water could be – the water tending to remove any lubrication in too-short order – Zevran would have been tempted to try bringing Fenris off right then and there.

Instead he finally brought the kiss to an end, smiling warmly at Fenris as he took in the other elf's flushed, happy appearance, his earlier fright now clearly behind him. "Come, enough bathing," he said gently. They helped each other up and out of the tub, and dried with some of the large soft towels that the bathing chamber was well-supplied with.

They returned to the bedroom, warm and sweet-smelling from the bath, hair still damp. Zevran quickly straightened the bedding, and they lay down together, spending some time in more kissing and touching. When he judged that Fenris was relaxed enough, he brought out the oil. The elf tensed as soon as he saw it, and Zevran paused. "We can stop, if you want," he offered.

Fenris shook his head, staring warily at the bottle. "No. I... I _want_ to do this. Please..."

"All right," Zevran agreed, and leaned forward to kiss him reassuringly. "Do not be afraid to change your mind. If you decide it is too much for you after all, you must let me know, and we will stop, yes?"

Fenris nodded. Zevran carefully positioned him, face up with his shoulders and head raised with pillows so that he could see what Zevran was doing; he thought that position was less likely to stress Fenris than being placed on his stomach would. He kissed and caressed the warrior for a while until he'd relaxed again, then poured a little oil into his hand. Kneeling beside Fenris so that he could continue kissing him, he reached down and smoothed his hand over the other elf's erection to begin, fondling and stroking it gently until Fenris relaxed again, then slid his hand further back, massaging the soft sack of his balls. And further back again, feeling Fenris once again go tense, buttocks clenching.

Zevran waited him out, ghosting kisses down his neck, along his collarbone out to his shoulder, murmuring reassurances in between them, his other hand moving to cup the back of Fenris' neck and making little massaging movements, until finally Fenris gave a shaky sigh and relaxed again.

He took his time in readying Fenris, working slowly and gentle, keeping up the kissing, the reassuring touches and words, finding just the right spot inside to draw a startled groan of pleasure from the other elf. He moved then, to kneel between Fenris' legs, fingers working steadily inside him while he used his other hand and mouth to stimulate him even further, until Fenris was close to the edge.

He backed off then, but not for long, only long enough to lift and spread Fenris' legs further, pushing them up towards his chest. "Keep your legs like that for a moment," he said quietly.

Fenris' eyes were wide, his expression a little apprehensive, but he kept his legs up and spread as Zevran moved into position, aligning himself carefully, then took a slowly began to lean in. He felt Fenris tense, then force himself to relax, and watched Fenris' face as conflicting emotions raced over it. It was a slow entry, with him giving Fenris time to adjust to and accept him sliding deeper and deeper into him. He paused again once he was all the way in, and slid his hand in between them, taking Fenris in hand. Fenris had flagged during the entry, but his excitement returned at Zevran's expert handling.

"Still all right?" Zevran asked softly. Fenris nodded hesitantly. Zevran smiled encouragingly at him. "I'm going to start moving now," he warned him, and then did so, again beginning slowly and carefully. He watched Fenris' face carefully, and knew when the other elf finally started to enjoy what was happening, the creases smoothing out of his forehead as his eyes slid closed and his head tilted back, his mouth falling open as his breathing deepened. Zevran smiled, and then carefully began changing his angle on each thrust, trying to find again that place his fingers had found earlier.

Fenris' eyes suddenly flew back open, a started cry of pleasure escaping him. Zevran grinned, and kept him held at just that angle, thrusting in again and again. Fenris' hands were knotting into the sheets, back arching as he cried out in pleasure. Zevran could feel his own climax approaching, and reached between them again, resuming stroking Fenris as he had been earlier. As close as Fenris already was, it took only a few strokes before he cried out again, loudly, arching and shuddering as he came, seed spurting thickly over his stomach and chest.

Zevran thrust into him a few more times, pace erratic now, before he cried out hoarsely and came as well. For a moment he slumped over Fenris, still buried within him, just enjoying the closeness. He felt an odd quiver pass through the warrior, and raised his head to find that Fenris' cheeks were wet again, his eyes closed as he silently cried. Horrified, he pulled out, and moved around to Fenris' side, once again hesitating over whether or not to embrace him. This time, he settled for touching his hand to his face, and when Fenris opened his eyes again, turned his head so that their eyes met.

"What's wrong? Fenris? Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

Fenris nodded. "Yes," he said, then rolled towards Zevran, sitting up and wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close in a powerful hug. "Nothing is wrong," he said, voice low and rumbling as he nuzzled into Zevran's hair.

"Then why are you crying?" Zevran asked, hesitantly, putting his own arms around the other elf.

"I don't know," Fenris said, then went still for a long moment, before tightening his grip on Zevran, clutching onto him as if he didn't ever want to let go.

Zevran got the feeling that Fenris did know why he was upset, but that whatever it was, the warrior was not ready to talk about it. He didn't question, but merely hugged him back, holding onto him and giving him what physical comfort he could. Finally Fenris slackened his grip, looking awkward and embarrassed. Zevran diplomatically ignored his unease, and instead rearranged the pillows, then gently guided Fenris into laying down again, getting both of them cuddled together under the sheets.

They were both tired out from the long, eventful evening; it wasn't long before they both fell asleep, limbs tangled together.


	98. Rumours From Abroad

Sebastian moved to stand by his seat, then looked to his left as his companions filed in to stand by their seats as well. He couldn't help but smile, remembering his and Anders' first attendance together to the chantry; Anders frightened, with a kitten hidden up one sleeve, the two chairs sitting in solitary isolation at the front of the box, backed by the solitary bench for their guards.

Now there was a row of chairs needed for all of the people in his party; his own large white and gold chair, then Ewan, Niawen, and Meridwen. Beyond them was Anders, no longer frightened, and without his cat, whom he was now content to leave behind, with Fenris and Zevran at the end, Fenris looking a little ill at ease, and Zevran perfectly relaxed. The row of guards had grown also, necessitating the addition of a second bench since Ewan and his household had their own regular guards assigned to them as well now. Guard-Captain Cerin was also attending the service with them today. They were still not even close to filling the spacious box, but at least it didn't look as terribly empty any more.

Sebastian took his seat, his companions taking theirs as well, and silence settled on the chantry, broken only by the occasional cough or mutter. Then the doors at the back opened, and Sebastian – and everyone else – rose to their feet while the Revered Mother and clerics walked in for the service. He gave himself up to the familiar comfort of ritual, of rising or sitting or kneeling as appropriate, listening to the lengthy reading from the Chant of Light.

After the service he waited while the chantry emptied out, then went forward to light a candle and pray, as he usually did. To his surprise, Anders moved forward as well, also selecting and lighting a candle, a small one, and bending his head over it briefly. He wondered what or who the man prayed for, and was heartened to think that the apostate had changed enough since his arrival here that he _was_ actually willing to truly pray about something.

His prayers over with, Sebastian gathered up what remained of his party – Ewan's group having already set out back to the castle – and headed out of the chantry as well. He paused for a moment on the steps outside, overlooking the square. It was a beautiful day, sunny and cloudless, with just the slightest breeze. He found himself wishing he had time to do as Fenris did each day, and go for a ride in the country. This would be a perfect day for such a thing.

He started down the steps, then abruptly stopped again as he saw a group of armoured men entering the square. His recent experience had him feeling wary of unexpected groups of armed men, and his nerves weren't soothed any by recognizing that they wore the armour of templars as they came closer.

"Look, it's Cullen," Anders' voice said from just behind him, and he recognized abruptly that the mage was right, and that these men were not armed strangers, but Cullen and his group of templars; more, they weren't alone, they were escorting a small group of men and women.

"Cullen! I'm pleased to see you've returned at last!" Sebastian called out, raising one hand toward the man as he hurried down the stairs to intercept the group. "Are these more mages in need of refuge?" he asked, looking over the group. They were dressed in everything from rags and patches to outfits that wouldn't have shamed a noble, but they all shared one thing; a tired, hunted look. And in many eyes, a look of desperate hope – hope that they'd finally reached a place of safety.

Cullen nodded tiredly. "Aye, m'Lord – a few apostates, but mainly circle mages whose towers have been involved in troubles or one kind of another."

Sebastian nodded acknowledgement. "Do you have a place for everyone to stay tonight, Knight-Commander?"

Cullen shook his head. "No. That was going to be next on my list, after reporting to the chantry."

"We can find room for them in the castle. Were you planning to only stay overnight, or rest a day or two before taking them the rest of the way to the circle keep?"

Cullen looked relieved. "A day of rest before the final leg would be good. It's been a much longer journey than I thought it would be; we'd still be somewhere down the Minanter except we lucked into a boat heading for Starkhaven and..."

" _Ship_ , sweet thing, how many times do I have to remind you it's a ship, not a _boat_ ," a startlingly familiar voice demanded from nearby.

Sebastian turned, a wide grin on his face. "Isabela! What are you doing in Starkhaven!" he asked.

"I've come to visit you, of course. I missed you and your pretty blue eyes," she said with a smile as she strode over, then looked beyond him, her smile widening. "Sparkle-fingers! You're looking surprisingly well. Fenris. And... Zevran, my darling boy! I haven't seen you since that little incident in Kirkwall. What are _you_ doing in Starkhaven?" she asked suspiciously.

Zevran grinned widely, and gave Isabela a deep bow. "Relaxing and enjoying myself, my dear."

"Relaxing? With Antiva just over the border? You have funny ideas on relaxation."

Zevran smiled and shrugged unconcernedly.

Sebastian reclaimed the conversation. "So, I take it you gave the Knight-Commander and his charges a lift up the Minanter, Isabela?" he asked.

"Yes. I was coming here anyway, so when I bumped into him down the coast in Hercinia I offered him and his people a lift this way.

Sebastian blinked. "Hercinia! That's pretty far afield," he said, and looked at Cullen questioningly.

Cullen nodded. "It's a long story. May I tell it to you later? I really should go report to the Revered Mother first..."

"Of course. Go ahead. Would you prefer to keep your men and charges here for now, or shall we see them up to the castle?"

"If you can take them now, that would be helpful," the Knight-Commander said agreeably. "My thanks, Prince Vael."

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "It's we that should be thanking you. Come up to the castle when you're finished at the chantry; I'll want an opportunity to talk with you as well."

Cullen nodded, and turned back to his men. "Lieutenant Keran! Go along with Prince Vael and see the men and mages settled."

"Aye, Knight-Commander," the man said, stepping forward and saluting.

Cullen nodded in farewell to Sebastian, then headed off up the steps into the chantry. Sebastian led the way off to the castle, his friends and guards falling in behind him, the templars and mages following. When they reached the castle he gave orders for the housing of the unexpected guests, including a guest suite for Isabela once he determined that she didn't need to return to her ship right away, and would be pleased to be his guest for the duration of her stay in Starkhaven.

He invited her to join him and the others for lunch, an invitation which she was also happy to accept.

* * *

"Well! Now this is _nice_ ," Isabela said approvingly, beaming around the table at the others. "Me and four delectable male companions – I must have been a _very_ good girl to deserve this. Or a very naughty one!"

Zevran grinned. "Knowing you, I would put my money on naughty."

"Isabela, you mentioned you were on your way here anyway when you met the Knight-Commander," Sebastian asked as he began to serve himself. "What brings you this way?"

"Oh, a few things. I put in at Kirkwall a couple weeks ago and have messages for you from Aveline and Varric," she said, as she looked interestedly at the contents of the dishes and began to make her own selections. "The biggest news of which is that Viscount Aveline is now a mother. It's a son; they've named him Roland Wesley Hendyr."

That news met with general approval from Sebastian, Anders and Fenris. Zevran looked puzzled. "I do wonder," he asked. "Why she is a Viscount, rather than a Viscountess?"

Isabela shrugged. "Something to do with her being the first female ruler of Kirkwall – assuming we don't count that crazed bitch Meredith – and the nobles wanting it to be clear that it was Aveline that was leading the city, not her husband. So she's Viscount Aveline, and he's Guard-Captain Donnic, and no one gets confused."

Sebastian nodded. "A good solution," he said agreeably. "Will you be going that direction after you return downstream, Isabela, or are you headed further afield?"

Isabela wrinkled her nose. "I haven't decided yet. I was thinking of seeing how the slaver-hunting was in Rialto Bay, but I might return to the Waking Sea... with the Orlesian-Navarran war heating up again now that the good weather is here, there should be fine pickings. Why?"

"Oh, just if you are heading that way I should have you bring a message and gifts from myself to Aveline and Donnic," Sebastian said.

Isabela nodded. "I'll let you know what my travel plans are once I figure it out myself, then," she said with a smile.

"You said there were a few things that brought you this way, Isabela," Fenris said questioningly.

She nodded. "Yes, the messages are just one – remind me to dig those out for you after lunch, Sebastan – I also heard some disturbing rumours while I was in Ferelden before heading to Kirkwall; actually the rumours are why I went to Kirkwall in the first place."

"Disturbing rumours? What about?" Sebastian asked.

"A few things," Isabela said, and sat back in her chair, looking around at the four men. "First, that both Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden have vanished, and no one has any idea where they are," she said, and frowned at Zevran, then pointed at him. "Though I suspect _you_ might have more recent news about that than I do, considering I heard in Amaranthine that he'd disappeared along with them."

Zevran grinned, but declined to comment. The others said nothing as well, though they did exchange looks. Isabela looked around the table again, then snorted. "Fine, keep your secrets. Anyway, I _also_ heard some disturbing rumours that someone has been circulating about the two of you," she said, turning to look at Sebastian and Anders. "There's a number of variations, but they all boil down to the fact that Anders is here and that you, for whatever reason, are refusing to turn him over to the chantry.

Sebastian and Anders exchanged a look. "Seeker Reynard," Sebastian said angrily. Anders nodded.

"...which ties in to _another_ pair of rumours I've heard, one that the Divine has taken a personal interest in events in Kirkwall last year. And a second that a large force of templars has taken ship from southern Orlais, headed no-one-knows-where."

"Seeker Reynard," Sebastian and Anders said in unison this time.

"Damnation," Sebastian continued, frowning worriedly. "Well, we'll just have to be alert, and hope that when he does show up, we can deal with whatever problem he represents without instigating a Holy March against Starkhaven."

"Who is this Seeker Reynard?" Isabela asked. It took Sebastian a while to tell her, carefully skirting around any mention of just how emotionally upset Anders had been afterwards.

Isabela nodded thoughtfully when he'd finished. "That would certainly explain things."

Conversation turned after that to Isabela's adventures since dropping off Fenris on the coast the fall before, which mainly had consisted of chasing down slavers and either freeing their slaves, taking their ill-gotten gains, or both whenever it was possible. That lasted them for the remainder of the meal, after which Isabela went off to see her guest room, dragging Zevran and a hesitant-looking Fenris in her wake.

Sebastian and Anders looked at each other.

"I'd best go talk to Guard-Captain Cerin, among other people," Sebastian said grimly.

Anders nodded. "I'm going back to my cottage," he said abruptly, rose, and walked out of the room.


	99. Worth Protecting

Isabela looked around her suite with an appreciative smile. "Well! This is very nice," she said, and sank down in an overstuffed armchair, putting her booted feet up on a foot-stool. She smiled warmly at Zevran and Fenris. "Sit! Tell me how you've been," she invited.

Fenris sat down stiffly on one end of a nearby couch, Zevran dropping down to sit in a much more relaxed slump beside him.

"I have been well," Fenris said. "I did run into some problems coming up the Minanter, but I made it to Starkhaven in good time," he said.

Zevran snorted and smiled at him. "You are being too modest, my friend," he said, and turned to look at Isabela. "He arrived just in time to foil an assassination attempt on Sebastian," he explained, then grinned. "At considerable risk and some injury to himself to accomplish."

Fenris flushed slightly, and shrugged. "We have been friends for years; when I overheard people discussing his killing, I could hardly do less."

Isabela smiled warmly at Fenris. "You always have been loyal to those you like. Speaking of which, am I mistaken or are you actually getting along with Anders now?"

Fenris smiled slightly. "We have become friends," he admitted. "He is a very different person than what he was like in Kirkwall, since Justice left him."

Isabela's eyebrows rose and she sat up a little straighter. "Justice has left him? Well! I may have to see if he's interested in reintroducing me to the electricity thing, now that old stick-in-the-mud is gone."

Zevran grinned. "Good luck with that. I believe Anders is already off the market."

"Oh, poo!" Isabela pouted, slumping back in her chair. "Maybe I should find a sweet young mage of my own, and see if I can explain it well enough to him to duplicate the effect. Say! Who has sparkle-fingers off the market? Maybe they'd be interested in a threesome..."

Zevran's grin widened. "I somehow doubt it," he said.

Fenris had been looking increasingly ill-at-ease with the direction of the conversation, and he abruptly rose to his feet. "I should go," he said. "I'll be late for my lesson, otherwise," he said.

Zevran sat up and caught his hand, looking up at him. "See you later?" he asked hopefully.

Fenris smiled slightly, looking down at him. "Yes," he said, then pulled his hand free. He nodded at Isabela, before he turned and hurried off.

Isabela's eyebrows were rising again as she watched him leave. She turned and looked speculatively at Zevran. She bit on her lower lip, then leaned forward interestedly as soon as the door had closed behind the warrior, curling her legs up under her. "Zevran, sweetheart... am I right in believing that Fort Fenris has fallen? Have you stormed his ramparts? Mined his walls? Accepted his surrender?"

Zevran laughed. "If you are asking if he and I have become lovers, than the answer is yes," he said, a slight smirk playing about his lips.

Isabel shook her head. "Goodness! However did you manage _that?_ I had him on board ship for _months_ and couldn't get into his pants, much less all the years I was trying back in Kirkwall."

Zevran shrugged. "I fear, my dear Isabela, that your sex is against you. You are aware he has a troubled past?"

Isabela nodded. "Of course. He rarely says anything about it, but it was obvious from his manner that he has issues around becoming intimate with anyone."

"They are especially strong against women. He mentioned someone named Hadriana, his master's apprentice..."

Isabela frowned and nodded. "Yes. I remember her. When he killed her – it was the only time I have seen him outright lie to someone. He had promised to allow her to live in return for some information she claimed to have about his sister; she told him, and then he killed her anyway."

"I am not surprised," Zevran said quietly. "You understand, he has not spoken to me in any detail about what was done to him in the past, but the impression I get is that while he suffered from the unwanted attentions of both his master and this apprentice, that what she did to him or had done to him was by far the worst abuse. He and I... we are taking things very slowly, you understand. He has overcome some of his problems, but far from all of them."

Isabela nodded, and sighed. "You were always better at patience than I am. Now, _perseverance_ , that I have down pat," she said a touch smugly, and smiled warmly at him. "So, tell me, who has cornered the market on Anders, that you say they wouldn't be up to some extra fun in... wait, no...," she suddenly broke off, looking enlightened and mildly startled. "It's not _Sebastian_ is it?"

Zevran grinned again. "I believe it is, though I don't think they've progressed as far as actually being intimate. But the way they watch each other, or don't watch each other at times – it speaks volumes."

"Damn it," Isabela said, looking grumpy. "He's another one I never had any success with; those damned vows of his. I guess my timing is all wrong. So, no Anders, Sebastian, or Fenris for me... and I suppose if you're involved with Fenris you're not going to be willing to have a little fun with _me_ while I'm here, are you?"

"Unfortunately, no, as tempting as the thought is... I don't think Fenris would understand. And I do not wish to hurt him; he has been hurt enough in the past."

"Drat. Oh well, I suppose I'll just have to keep working on that delectable templar."

"Who? Cullen?"

"No, his lieutenant – Keran. Such a handsome man... I could eat him right up."

"With or without whipped cream?" Zevran asked with a smile.

Isabela laughed bawdily. "Either way!"

* * *

Fenris knocked on the door to Anders' cottage. There was a longer wait than usual before the mage opened the door; enough so that he'd been considering if he should knock again. The first thing he noticed was that Anders looked glum, the man's shoulders slumped, the corners of his mouth turned down. The second was that his eyes were reddened.

He frowned as he stepped into the cottage. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

Anders hunched his shoulders and turned away. "I'm fine," he said sharply, clearly not wishing to discuss whatever had him so obviously upset.

Fenris almost dropped the subject; not all that long ago, he knew, he would have done it without a second thought. But he cared enough about the mage to be worried at seeing him so withdrawn after he'd been so happy for most of the last few weeks, apart from the few days of Sebastian's abduction.

"You are not fine," Fenris said firmly, then tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. "Is it the news about the Seeker, Reynard?"

Anders smiled crookedly. "Yes," he said, shortly. He turned away, walking over to his kitchen area to put on water for tea. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Then that probably means you need to," Fenris said.

Anders snorted, and give Fenris a sideways look as he filled the kettle. "And when did you get to know so much about things?" he asked.

Fenris smiled slightly. "I suppose you and Sebastian have been rubbing off on me. And Zevran. You were right that he is a very good listener. He hears things even when you don't say them."

Anders smiled, and turned away to put the kettle on the fire. "Yes, he does," he agreed. "How are things between you and Zevran?"

Fenris shrugged uncomfortably, and moved to sit down at the table. "Quite well," he said, and flushed a little, looking pleased. "Very well."

Anders glanced at him again, and smiled, as he measured tea leaves into mugs. "I'm glad," he said quietly.

Fenris nodded, then looked curiously at Anders. "Are you and Sebastian...?"

Now it was Anders that blushed. He leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting for the kettle to boil. "We've got... an understanding," he admitted, then shrugged. "He still has his vows. And I respect him for that, that he won't just casually break them."

Fenris nodded. They both fell silent. The kettle came to the boil, and Anders poured the water into the mugs, then carried them over to the table, setting one down before Fenris before taking his own seat. Fenris picked up the jar of honey from the middle of the table and ladled a couple of spoonfuls into his mug. Anders made a face and took a much smaller amount himself.

They both sat and drank their tea in silence for a few minutes. "So. Seeker Reynard," Fenris said after a while, watching Anders closely. "You are concerned about the news Isabela brought that may be connected to him."

Anders sighed and pushed away his mug, and sat back in his seat. "Yes, I am," he said. "I hate knowing that Sebastian will face difficulties because of his protection of me. Worse, difficulties from the chantry, which I know has been an important part of his life. Especially since..." he looked away, and his voice dropped, going uneven. "I don't know if I'm worth protecting."

Fenris abruptly rose to his feet. "Come with me," he ordered. Anders gave him a startled look, and Fenris took him by the arm and pulled. "Come," he repeated.

Anders rose hesitantly, then gave in and followed without argument. Fenris led the way out of his cottage and across the garden, not saying anything as they passed through the guardhouse – picking up Adners' air of guards on the way through – and walked across the ground until the clinic came into view. Fenris abruptly stopped, and turned to look at Anders. "How many people have you treated in the clinic, since you and Sebastian opened it?"

Anders looked startled. "I don't know."

"Less than a hundred?"

"No, more than that."

"More or less than two hundred?"

"More, I think."

"More or less than five hundred?"

" _I don't know_. Maybe less. Probably less."

"Think about how many of them are healthy today because you were here to treat them. How many would be _dead_ if you weren't here," Fenris said, then pulled on his arm to turn him around and marched off again, back toward the keep. Anders followed in silence, a thoughtful look on his face.

Fenris went back indoors, and up several stories and down a long hallway. He made a sign at Anders for quiet, then opened a door and led the way inside. Anders followed him into a large, well-lit room, and stopped in surprise.

He'd never been here before, but he could guess what it was by seeing what was going on in the room. The scriptorium; Sebastian's scriptorium, people by mages and their templar escorts. Except the templars weren't standing around in armour, on silent guard, as they would have been in a circle tower. The only reason he could tell them apart from the mages was they were the ones not in robes; apart from that, they and the mages were involved in much the same activities. Most of them were busily copying out documents at the long tables, others were taking a break in a seating area to one side, sitting and talking together.

And in another corner of the room... Anders came to a stop, staring, then looked at Fenris. "A school?" he asked quietly.

Fenris nodded, then led the way over, a smile breaking out on his face. "Gevin!" he called, and raised his hand as a familiar elven boy scrambled to his feet from among the cluster of people; every age from child to adult, both men and elves, with a pair of mages leading the class.

"Fenris!" Gevin exclaimed, beaming happily, putting aside his slate and hurrying over to greet the elf. He smiled and dipped his head shyly at Anders as well.

"So I see you took my advice," Fenris told him. "Have you learned enough to write to Kyla yet?"

Gevin smiled again, and shook his head. "Not yet. I don't know enough words yet. But soon, maybe."

"Good. Well, we should not keep you from your studies," Fenris said, and after they'd both said good-bye to the boy he led Anders back out to the corridor. He turned and looked sternly at Anders. "That is _your_ doing, mage – templars and mages working in peaceful cooperation, and people who want to leaning how to read and write from mage teachers."

And he set off again, at a fast walk, to his own rooms. Once they were alone there, he gestured for Anders to take a seat, then got out a bottle of wine, and glasses for both of them, and carried them over and took a seat as well. He put down the glasses, and poured them full, handing one to Anders. He settled back in his seat and took a sip of his, then looked at Anders. "You have done both bad and good things in the past. You are doing good things now; things that make a difference for people. I know that the clinic and your work with Sebastian and myself on issues like the treatment of mages are only part of it. It's your advice that had helped to keep the refugee camps as free of major sickness as they've been. That has seen to it that skilled workers are being helped to re-establish themselves here in Starkhaven."

Fenris frowned down at his wine, and took another sip. "One of the hardest things I had to learn, after escaping Danarius, and which I did not begin to properly learn until after he was finally dead, was to not let my past determine my value, or my future. My past made me one thing; my own choices since have made me something else. Don't let your past define you, Anders. You are _you_. You _are_ worth protecting. _I_ am telling you this, who once thought no mages worth saving."

Anders nodded, and took a big gulp of his own wine. "Thank you," he said, very quietly. "I think sometimes I need to be reminded that I'm not the person I used to be. The rebellious youth, the abused prisoner, the wanted apostate, the Grey Warden, the underground healer, the possessed revolutionary... you're right. I'm none of those any more. Or maybe I'm all of them, in different amounts, made into something new."

Fenris smiled. "I will remind you as often as you need to hear it," he assured the mage.


	100. The Space Between

Zevran raised an eyebrow as he turned into the corridor where Fenris' rooms were, and spotted the familiar pair of guards standing at the elf's door; Anders' guards. The mage must be with him for some reason. He smiled and nodded at the two guards, then stepped past them and let himself into Fenris' rooms.

The warrior and mage were seated in comfortable chairs, an empty wine bottle and a mostly-empty one on a small table between their chairs, holding wine glasses. They looked up at Zevran's entrance, and both smiled, Anders a little drunkenly, Fenris happily.

"Well, this looks cozy. May I join you?" Zevran asked, already moving over to where Fenris kept the glasses.

"Bring another bottle with you," Fenris asked as Zevran picked up a glass. "We've almost finished this one."

"Of course," Zevran said, and picked up one from the selection sitting on the sideboard, carrying it over and placing it on the table before picking up the already-opened bottle and pouring himself a glass. He sat down on the arm of Fenris' chair, then braced his arm against the back of it, and bent down.

Fenris looked mildly startled, and darted a single self-conscious glance at Anders, then suddenly smiled shyly at Zevran and leaned up enough to facilitate a brief, warm kiss. He settled back in the chair afterwards, as Zevran straightened up again, the warrior looking both pleased and a little flushed. Zevran smiled at him in warm approval.

Anders rose unsteadily to his feet. "I do believe that's a sign that it's time for me to head out," he said, smiling at the two elves, then dipped a rather tipsy bow to Fenris. "Thank you for the walk, the conversation, and the wine, Fenris," he said.

Fenris nodded, looking pleased. "You're welcome, Anders."

Anders grinned at him, drained off what was left in his glass, and set it on the table. "Warrior," he said, giving a little wave before turning away.

"Mage," Fenris replied, smiling crookedly as he watch the man leave.

"What was that about?" Zevran asked, mystified, once the door had closed behind the man.

Fenris gave a short laugh, and picked up the open bottle of wine, pouring the last of it into his glass. "Back in Kirkwall, when I still hated Anders – all mages, really – I avoided calling him by name. I usually called him _mage_ ," he explained, using exactly the scathing tone he'd usually used back then.

"Ahhh," Zevran said, eyes lighting with comprehension. "Rather like how King Alistair calls me _assassin_ ," – he hissed the word – "and I call him whatever is best guaranteed to make him turn an interesting shade of red."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "You tease your king?"

Zevran grinned widely. "But of course. We are friends, and I help to remind him that he is merely human."

"Friends..." Fenris said, and frowned down into his glass, swirling it and studying the patterns the dark wed wine made against the glass. "Do you miss him? And the others you know in Ferelden?"

Zevran shrugged. "A little. But..." he reached out, and took the glass from Fenris' hand, setting it down on the table, as well as his own, and leaned down over Fenris again. "If you are asking if I miss them enough to be in a hurry to return there – no, I do not miss them that much. Certainly not at this very moment," he said, and leaned further down, giving Fenris a heated kiss.

Fenris made a noise of approval, lifting his hands to hold Zevran's head steady as they kissed.

They left the third bottle of wine unopened, choosing to retire to Fenris' bedroom over further drinking.

* * *

As Sebastian changed for bed, he found his mind returning again and again to the moment when Anders left the room after lunch. The abruptness of his words, the slump of his shoulders and lowered head as he'd walked away. Sebastian had regretted several times this afternoon that he had not followed the mage to reassure him, but there'd been too much that needed attending to, in the wake of the arrival of the templars and mages, and Isabela's disturbing news.

When he had found a moment between meetings to go down to the cottage, he'd found it empty apart from Ashes, curled up on the pillow of Anders' bed, and the two dogs out roaming in the garden. The guards at the gatehouse had told him Anders had gone out some while back with Fenris, and not yet returned. He'd been relieved to hear that the mage was at least with someone.

He'd been to dinner down at the chantry, with Revered Mother Glynis and Knight-Commander Cullen, discussing Cullen's lengthy journey and the encounters he'd had as he and his men travelled down the Minanter and out along the southern coast. It had been late evening before Cullen had finished and the two of them had returned to the castle for the night. He'd have to talk again with Cullen the next day, to get further detail on some of the trip's events.

But right now, all he could think about was Anders, and how _dejected_ the man had looked after they'd heard Isabela's news. He stood for a long moment looking at his own bed, then picked up a lighted candle and turned to walk slowly over to the tapestry hiding the entry to the staircase, pushing it aside and opening the door. He paused more than once on the way down, unsure of his reception, unsure if this was a particularly wise choice, unsure of everything, really, except of the aching _need_ he had to see Anders and be sure the man was all right.

He paused for an especially long time at the bottom of the stair, before finally opening the door that led into the closet. He heard Ganwyn bark, once.

"Anders?" he called, pushed past the outfits hung on the hooks lining the walls of the closet, and opened the closet door.

Anders was just sitting up, having clearly been lying down in bed before Sebastian had made his entrance. He gazed up at Sebastian from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and the look in his eyes was so _welcoming_ and warm that it made Sebastian's breath catch in his throat for a moment.

"Why...?" Anders asked nervously.

"I was worried about you," Sebastian explained, moving forward to put the candle down on the low table beside the bed. "After what we heard from Isabela... are you all right?" he asked, reaching out to lightly touch Anders' cheek, brushing an errant strand of hair back behind the man's ear.

Anders swallowed, keep his gaze locked with Sebastian's. "I wasn't, at first. But Fenris dropped by and talked me around. After which he and I went to his rooms and got a little drunk," he said, and smiled. He reached up and took Sebastian's hand in his. "I should warn you, I'm still more than a little drunk; I had some more wine after I got back here," he said, and then brushed a kiss over the back of Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian shivered at the warm touch. "May I stay?" he asked, voice a near-whisper.

Anders studied his face a moment, then nodded. Without releasing Sebastian's hand, he backed up on the bed, giving Sebastian little choice but to join him there. Not that Sebastian had any intention of _not_ doing so. He stretched out on the bed beside Anders. Anders looked over at the two dogs, and whistled sharply. The two rose and left the room.

Sebastian snorted, and smiled at Anders. "Useful, that," he said solemnly, then leaned down to kiss Anders. He had meant it to be a simple, fairly chaste kiss – but it quickly developed into anything but _chaste_ , as Anders pulled him down, his lean arms wrapping around Sebastian's muscular shoulders in a surprisingly strong grip.

Anders tasted of wine. Sebastian lay partially on him, mostly on the bed, as their kiss went on and on, tongues languidly exploring each other's mouths, alternating with sucking and chewing on each other's lips. He groaned, and heard Anders moan in response. It was only when he realized he was beginning to grind his aching groin against the mattress that he came to himself, and managed to recover his self-control enough to draw back, to end the kiss. Anders' lips were swollen and moist from kissing; he had no doubt his own were in the same state.

They stared searchingly at each other, neither wanting this to stop, neither ready for it to continue.

It was Anders who finally moved, reaching up to cup one hand against the side of Sebastian's face, his thumb sliding in a single caressing stroke over his lips. "No," he said quietly.

Sebastian nodded. "No," he agreed, a little regretfully, and smiled ruefully. They slid apart, Sebastian rolling over onto his side and raising one knee to make his erection less obvious. Anders lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling overhead. Sebastian could not help but notice that the mage was visibly tenting the sheets, then blushed when Anders turned to look at him and caught the direction of his gaze.

"Do you want to see?" Anders suddenly asked, his tone of voice curious. "Or would that break your vows?"

Sebastian swallowed and studied his face for a moment. "It would not break them," he finally admitted, hesitantly, but stuck on saying the next words. _Yes_ , he wanted to see.

Anders smiled crookedly, then moved, dragging up his night shirt far enough to hook his thumbs in the waistband of his breeches. He lifted his hips long enough to push them down to mid-thigh, then shifted on the bed, turning partway towards Sebastian, lower leg stretched out straight and upper on with knee bent and lifted, foot braced against the mattress back of his other knee. He leaned on one elbow, other arm resting on his side, the hem of his nightshirt held gathered in that hand to expose himself to Sebastian's gaze. He watched Sebastian.

Sebastian studied his calm face for a long moment, then let his gaze drop downwards, to where Anders' cock jutted proudly erect. It was, he saw, of a good size and colour, curving upwards towards the mage's belly, and a bit to one side. A thin trail of red-gold hairs led from Anders' navel down to a thicker nest of curls around the base of it. As he watched, the erection stiffened further, the mage clearly excited by his scrutiny, and he felt his own groin tighten in response. He had to force himself to remain still against the impulse to reach out, to _touch_ , imaging just how soft the foreskin would feel, the firmness and heat of the swollen flesh within, the wiryness of the curls of hairs, the slickness of the moisture beading out of its jutting tip.

He looked at Anders' face again. The mage's eyes were darkly blown, his cheeks flushed. For a long moment they just looked at each other, then a very faint smile curved Anders' lips. He moved again, rolling upwards into a kneeling position facing Sebastian. He let the hem of his nightshirt drop to cover his lap again, but Sebastian remained very aware of the tented fabric and the spot of moisture now staining it as the mage leaned forward, and touched the fingertips of his right hand to Sebastian's lips.

"Open," the mage said, very softly, but with a note of such command in it that Sebastian unthinkingly did as asked. Anders' fingers slid into his mouth, the mage's thumb and pinky fingers bracketing his chin. Sebastian hesitantly closed his mouth and sucked on them. Anders made an approving sound, his fingers curling downwards against Sebastian's tongue, then sliding slowly out and back into his mouth. Sebastian watched the mage's face, as he sucked on and licked at the fingers, shivering as their steady pumping motion sent a frisson of heightened pleasure down his spine and from there seemingly straight to his groin. He tasted the slight salt of the other man's skin, a hint of soap, the gritty earthiness of a fragment of garden soil caught under one of Anders' nails.

"Enough," Anders said after a while, voice husky. Sebastian let his mouth open again, and Anders withdrew his moistened fingers. With his other hand he lifted his nightshirt aside again, then closed his hand around himself, and slowly slicked himself with Sebastian's saliva.

The sight made Sebastian's tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth, his own erection becoming almost painfully hard. His breath went ragged as he watched Anders' hand gliding up and down his shaft. He watched, frozen, as Anders stroked himself, staring as the mage's hand glided smoothly up and down, pace slowly increasing, Anders' breath deepening as he slowly drew himself closer and closer to climax.

He looked at Anders' face again, and found himself torn between watching the mage's expression – head tilted back, eyes half-shut in pleasure, his mouth partially open as he gasped for breath – and watching the nearly hypnotic motion of his hand as it stroked up and down, up and down, over and over again. He imagined what Anders' hand would feel like, doing that to Sebastian's own aching cock. His own hands were closed in tight fists, one clenching the sheets, the other the pillow under his head. His found his hips making little jerking movements in time with Anders' moving hand, and longed to move his hands, to touch himself, even to just roll over onto his stomach and rut into the mattress, _anything_...

Anders was gasping now, rising up, hips thrusting vigorously as he fucked his own hand. "Sebastian!" the mage gasped out, eyes opening wide again, looking down at the watching man, with so much pure, naked heat and longing in his gaze...

" _Anders,_ " Sebastian groaned, his voice thick with his own frustrated desire, even his toes curling tightly now as he restrained his own desire for touch, for friction.

And Anders came, body arching backwards as seed came spurting out over his fingers, dripping down onto his thighs. Sebastian groaned and shuddered at the sight, so close to coming himself... he closed his eyes, burying his heated face against the bed, forcing his breathing to even out, himself to remain still. He was distantly aware of the sound of Anders moving around, presumably cleaning himself up and straightening his clothes.

When he'd finally calmed down enough to look at Anders again, the mage was lying down on his side, facing towards Sebastian and watching him with an expression of concern. Sebastian smiled reassuringly at him, and got a warm smile in return.

"You are a very fiendish man sometimes," Sebastian husked out, his voice still rough.

Anders grinned, then rolled closer to Sebastian, craning forward and kissing his forehead before lying back again. He reached out and removed Sebastian's hand from where it was still clenched into the bedding, holding it in his own. Sebastian smiled, and pulled his hand close enough to kiss it, then sighed and relaxed.

They fell asleep that way, their hands still linked in the space between them.


	101. Dinner Party

Anders woke with a terrible headache, and a groan caused by same. It wasn't until he moved that he realized the warm weight against his back and draped over his side was neither Ganwyn nor Ganwyn's head... it was Sebastian, spooned up against Anders' back, his arm draped around Anders' waist.

Memory of his activities the previous evening came back in a rush. Drinking with Fenris, coming back to the cottage already more than a little drunk, opening a bottle of wine to have with his supper, working his way through it steadily all evening. Going to bed, and lying there unable to sleep, until Ganwyn had suddenly jumped off the bed, and barked. Sebastian stepping out of his closet with a candle in hand, like something from a dream or vision. The look of tender concern on his face, and everything that had happened afterwards... Anders groaned again, feeling himself blush with embarrassment. Andraste's perfect arse, what had he _done!_

A low chuckle in his ear, and he felt Sebastian's arm tighten briefly around him in a one-armed hug.

Anders rolled away from him, over onto his stomach, burying his heated face in his hands. "Oh _Maker_... I'm so sorry, Sebastian... I warned you I was drunk," he said hoarsely, voice muffled by the pillows.

Sebastian laughed, a delighted sound, and shifted closer. Anders felt a hand pushing aside his hair, then warm lips kissed the nape of his neck. He shivered.

"Don't be sorry," Sebastian said quietly, right beside his ear, voice low and just the littlest bit husky. "I'm not. I regret nothing that happened last night."

Anders turned his head sideways and looked at Sebastian. He had to smile, seeing the warm, contented smile the prince was giving him. Sebastian's smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he leaned down and lightly kissed Anders' temple.

"And now I should return to my own rooms," Sebastian said regretfully. "I'll see you at lunch. Oh, and dinner – I'll be having a formal dinner for Cullen and his men and their charges, and Isabela as well I suppose, before Cullen heads off to the circle keep tomorrow. And I suppose I should have our local parcel of templars and mages in for it as well. I'll want you there as well."

Anders nodded. "All right, I'll be there," he agreed.

"Good," Sebastian said, and rolled out of bed, retrieving his candlestick from the bedside table before vanishing through the closet and back up to his apartment.

Anders remained in bed a little while longer, smiling and feeling remarkably content, before finally getting up. He'd let the animals out and start water heating for a bath, he decided, and then see about making himself breakfast. And think about what to wear this evening.

* * *

Isabela rose to her feet, wrapping a sheet around her, and smiled at the man still sleeping soundly in her bed. She really had worn the poor boy out. She went off to investigate the delights of the bathing chamber, which turned out to be positively sybaritic. If she'd known a tub this big was here the night before... well, she'd just have to keep it in mind. It would be another two or three days before she was ready to head back downstream, after all, and if Sebastian was willing to put her up in this sort of luxury for the duration of her stay, _she_ certainly wasn't going to object.

She returned to her room in search of her clothes, frowning at the thought of having to put on the unwashed outfit when she was all nice and deliciously clean. She'd have to remember to pop by her ship and pick up a couple changes of clothing to get her through the next few days. She was just about to unwrap the now-damp sheet and change, when the templar stretched and yawned, his bright blue eyes popping open. He looked a little confused for a moment, then caught sight of her and smiled.

She liked his smile, how it would get so big, and then he'd suddenly make it smaller, closing his lips, remembering too-late the crooked canine he was apparently self-conscious about other people noticing. She liked a lot of things about him. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she reached down and gave one of her favourite things a friendly tug while leaning down to kiss him lasciviously, sitting back with a laugh as he made a strangled sound over what her hand was doing.

"Good morning," she purred. "Can you stay a little longer, or do you have duties to get back to?"

"Not until this afternoon," Keran said, one hand raising to gently brush her hair back from her face, before he raised himself up enough to kiss her in return.

"Good," she purred, and letting the sheet drop away, rejoined him in bed. Perhaps she'd get to share that bathtub with him after all... later. Once they were both all nice and sweaty.

* * *

Sebastian smiled as he looked around the room. It had been a long time since he'd last held a large enough dinner party to actually use the formal dining room; when he'd held a Firstday party, attended by his nobles and the richer merchants of the city. That had been a dinner party to endure; this was one he was determined to actually enjoy.

The room was crowded with templars in their armour, all at a high level of polish, mages in robes – the mages in the scriptorium had donated some of their clothing to the more impoverished of the mages Cullen's group had brought in, so that all could be properly dressed – and a select group of clerics clustered behind Revered Mother Glynis. Sebastian walked over and formally greeted her.

She smiled warmly at him. "Prince Vael. An interesting dinner. I thank you for the invitation."

"I am pleased you were able to attend on such short notice, Your Reverence," Sebastian replied. They chatted together briefly, trivial pleasantries only, as this was not the place for any serious discussion between the two of them. He excused himself when he saw his friends come in, and walked over to greet them, smiling warmly in welcome.

Zevran and Fenris were both looking well, dressed in nice outfits instead of armour. Zevran was wearing a long tunic of deep green, embroidered with Dalish patterns around the neck and hem in gold, over leggings of dark brown sueded leather, with matching soft-soled slippers in brown leather embroidered with green and gold. Fenris was dressed in an outfit Sebastian remembered buying for him; a light grey shirt with silver embroidery around the neck and cuffs, and charcoal grey leggings. He was even wearing the low black leather boots that went with it. He had his green-and-silver Dalish scarf folded and tied around his waist like a sash.

Anders' outfit made Sebastian smile widely. A well-remembered outfit, of russet woollen leggings that were likely a touch warm for a fine spring evening, paired with low indoor boots in dark brown leather, and a cream-coloured linen shirt, his golden Dalish scarf draped around his neck. He had little doubt that the mage had purposefully selected the outfit to raise memories of that first so-awkward kiss between them, the unexpected heat of it, the recognition it had forced of the desire they shared.

Isabela entered as he was walking over to greet the three. Her outfit was a surprise; she was wearing a dress. Or at least something that he supposed could technically be called a dress, involving as it did a corset-like garment of cream-coloured silk topping a floor-length sheath of gauzy fabric, decorated with patterns of gold embroidery and seed pearls. The corset part was laced up the sides and cut indecently low in front and behind, revealing a scandalous amount of dusky skin. She was wearing a king's ransom in jewellery with it, covering enough of her decolletage to make the garment merely outrageous, rather than outright indecent. Though somehow the occluded view of her long legs in the the floor-length skirt made her seem even more naked than her usual thigh-high boots and sleeveless linen shirt would have.

Zevran was just giving Isabela's costume an appreciative look as Sebastian walked up. "You look particularly ravishing this evening, my dear," the assassin told her, winning a warm smile from her.

"I don't suppose you're interested in being the one who supplies the ravishment? No? Pity," she said, smiling knowingly at him and Fenris, before turning to smile warmly at Sebastian.

He quickly greeted all of them, and stood talking with them for a while. Isabela was the first to part company from the group, heading off to corner one of the templars – Cullen's lieutenant, Keran. The man looked both delighted and a little self-conscious over her company. A feeling Sebastian could well understand.

Zevran and Fenris eventually made their excuses and drifted off as well, in search of wine and a quiet corner to enjoy it in, leaving Sebastian temporarily alone with Anders.

"I like the outfit," he said in a lowered voice, winning a faint smirk from Anders as the man sipped from his own goblet of wine.

"I thought you might," Anders replied. He glanced around the room, looking a touch nervously at the Revered Mother, who was in a discussion with Cullen, then looking at a nearby cluster of mages. A longing look came into his eyes.

"Missing the company of mages, Anders?" Sebastian asked softly. "We could mingle if you like."

Anders smiled crookedly. "Actually its the robes I'm missing. Having spent most of my life in them, it feels... a little odd, to be in leggings and shirts or tunics all the time," he said, and looked back at the nearby mages. "I'm not sure how welcome I'd be, anyway, among other mages. Not after Kirkwall," he added, just a touch wistfully.

"Well, let's go find out," Sebastian said, and led the way over to the nearest group. Most of them were mages who worked in the scriptorium here in the castle; a couple were from the refugees that had come in with Cullen. They were all quite happy to talk with Sebastian. They were uneasy about Anders' presence at first, he could tell, flicking little glances towards the mage and away again, but after Sebastian had asked Anders' opinion on something, and drawn him into the conversation, they relaxed a little and included him in their talk.

Eventually Sebastian had to end the conversation, it being time for himself and his guests to take their places at the long table and enjoy their meal. Courtesy dictated that he have both the Revered Mother and Knight-Commander Cullen seated near him for the meal; Anders ended up some distance down the table, between Isabela and a random templar. Sebastian was pleased to see that the mage seemed to be comporting himself well, looking relaxed as he joked with Isabela and politely answered questions from those seated closest to him.

It was a lengthy meal, but thankfully overall a pleasant one. Afterwards most of the guests left quickly, the mages and templars heading back to the quarters that had been assigned to them; Cullen and his group would have an early start tomorrow, to travel to the circle keep. The Revered Mother made her farewell and departed as well, taking her coterie of clerics with her.

Left with just his friends, Sebastian suggested they retire to his suite for drinks and conversation to end the evening. He somehow ended up with Isabela on his arm for the walk back to his suite, Anders following behind with the elves bringing up the rear. They had almost reached his room when he heard giggling, and looking up saw Ewan running down the hallway toward him, dressed for bed, his puppy Tighe, Niawen and her mother and the boy's guards chasing along behind.

Releasing Isabela's arm, Sebastian blocked the boy's path, and scooped him up, laughing. "And where are you off to, young mischief?" he asked.

"I wanted to go to the party!" Ewan announced.

"Oh! Well, if I'd known that, I would have invited you," he said solemnly. "But the party's over now."

The others had caught up by then. Meridwen looked flustered. "Sorry, m'Lord," she said, dipping a bow toward him. "He ran off while I was helping Niawen into her nightgown."

Sebastian smiled reassuringly at her. "It's all right," he said, then frowned at the boy. "It is bad of you to worry your nurse, you know."

Ewan pouted, just a little, then smiled and looked back over his shoulder at Meridwen. "I'm sorry, Merry," he said.

Sebastian grinned, and put the boy back down, keeping hold of his hand, then smiled warmly at Meridwen. "Why don't you and the children come and join us in my rooms for a little while? As a treat before they go to bed."

She dipped her head in agreement, and he led the way to his rooms, not failing to notice how pleased and excited Ewan looked to be included in the group. He would have to make sure to spend more time with the boy, he decided; he wanted the two of them to be close, as he had been close with his grandfather, not the sort of distant, cold relationship he'd had with his father.

It took a while to get everyone seated and provided with drinks. Sebastian looked around the room when he was done, and smiled.

Niawen was seated beside Isabela, clearly quite taken with her dress, shyly examining the embroidery and beadwork on the skirt, Isabela leaning over to point out some detail of it, her glass of wine held up all-but-forgotten in her other hand. Meridwen was sitting nearby, one one end of a couch, with Anders at the other and Ewan in between them, looking up at Anders and earnestly telling him some complicated story about Tighe, who was sprawled over both their laps, forequarters in Ewan's lap and hindquarters on Anders. Fenris and Zevran were sharing the bench by the fireplace, Zevran leaning companionably against the taller elf's side.

Sebastian found himself a seat, in an armchair near the couch, so that he could talk with Meridwen. He asked about how she and the children were finding the rooms they'd moved into, and was pleased to hear that all three of them were delighted with their new quarters. Then he listened to one of Ewan's stories about Tighe – the boy and his dog were clearly pretty much inseparable already – after which Meridwen declared it time for the children to go to bed.

After seeing them to the door, Sebastian returned and sat down next to Anders. Isabela rose and walked over to sit down beside him. "So, sweet thing – that lovely girl Niawen – is she yours?"

"Maker, no!" Sebastian exclaimed. "No, she was fathered by my middle brother, Nicholas."

"Ahhh, that at least explains why she looks so much like you. A female version of you, anyway," Isabela added with a smile. "So who is your heir then? The girl, or the boy?"

Sebastian frowned. "In truth, I have not yet decided. Niawen has the closer blood relationship, but her birth was not acknowledged; my family died before they could be informed and my brother chose whether or not he wished to acknowledge her. Without that, Ewan's claim is in many ways the more legitimate, but he is a distant cousin, and many will hold his mother against him."

"His mother?" Isabela asked, mystified.

Anders spoke up. "Her name was Johanna; she was Johain Harrimann's niece."

"And a blood mage," Fenris pointed out.

"I can see why people might have problems with that," Isabela agreed.

"Thankfully I do not need to come to any immediate decision," Sebastian said. "And who knows, there may be other candidates that have yet to be uncovered; I have my archivist investigating the family tree even now, for any closer branches that may have been missed in the Harrimann's purge; there have always been enough Vaels that those who married out of the name into other families were disregarded, other than keeping an eye on consanguinity for the first couple generations afterwards. I likely have a number of cousins among the nobles, or in the nobility of our neighbouring states, who may have a closer claim than Ewan, just not the surname. It will all have to be sorted out."

Isabela nodded. "Speaking of sorting out – I wanted to talk to your about cargo, Sebastian. Specifically, cargo for my ship. I'm interested in obtaining some Winter Wine, and a little bird told me that most of the production of it is done on the royal estates."

Sebastian smiled. "I might be able to find some to trade to you, if you have anything I'm interested in."

"The same little bird happened to mention you have a fondness for cacao – and I happened to take some off a Tevintar merchanter-slaver right before encountering Cullen. Would you be interested?"

Sebastian grinned. "Very. Perhaps we can discuss a trade tomorrow morning?"

Isabela nodded. "Of course. And now, I should go – I was up very late last night. And hope to be again tonight," she added, rising to her feet with a wink.

"We should go as well," Fenris said. Zevran agreed, and the two also left.

Anders smiled. "And that's my cue to go as well," he said.

Sebastian reluctantly nodded. He wished he dared invite Anders to remain here for the night, but he didn't think it wise. He did rise and follow Anders into the bedroom, exchanging a lingering good-night kiss with the mage before Anders headed down the stairs to his own cottage.

He was still smiling as he changed for bed.


	102. Back To Sea

Zevran drew a deep breath of the fine spring air, and smiled as he glanced sideways at Fenris, riding alongside him. It was a beautiful morning for a ride. And he had to admit he was looking forward to their destination; Sebastian had surprised him yesterday at lunch, telling him that he'd decided to gift the assassin with a pair of horses, that he was to select for himself.

"If you remain here any length of time, doubtless you will have need of them," Sebastian had said. "And if you move on, doubtless you will need them even more. I will give you a letter authorizing you to select two horses from among our stock, and Fenris can take you to the farm any time you'd like."

Zevran had been delighted by the gift. Though he did wonder if he could find the sort of horses he preferred among the stock of a royal farm; as much as he admired Fenris' lovely pair of horses, he did not much care to have such a striking mount himself. They were too attention-getting, and attention was something he did not care for. At least not when he was out in the field, anyway. But in describing the farm, Sebastian had mentioned that it bred horses for all purposes, so he had hopes that there would be some more common-looking specimens among the stock there.

It did not take very long to reach the farm; it was less than two hours easy ride from the city, situated in an area of rolling grass-covered hills. Someone came outside to meet them as they rode into the yard; someone known to Fenris, judging by his guarded smile and dip of the head as he dismounted. The man's eyes were all for Ari at first, a wide smile lighting his face as he looked the horse over before finally turning to the elf.

"He's in fine shape," the man said approvingly. "How may I help you?"

"Are you the stable-master?" Zevran asked, and at the man's nod of agreement, stepped forward and proffered the letter that Sebastian had provided him. The man looked him over curiously as he broke the seal and unfolded the letter, then looked down and skimmed through the contents. He grunted and refolded it, looking Zevran over a second time with even greater curiosity. "I'm instructed to allow you to select two horses from among our stock," he said, frowning slightly. "Do you have any preferences about what you're looking for?" he asked guardedly, darting a slightly worried glance at Arianblaidd.

Zevran smiled. "Yes. I can reassure you that I have no interest in walking off with any of your best stock. While I appreciate fine horseflesh, for my own use I prefer something... less showy. The sort of horse no one would give a second look, that is unlikely to attract either attention or avarice. Quite frankly I was worried over whether a stables that produced such a spectacular mount as Fenris' Ari can supply the sort of horse I prefer, but Prince Vael assured me that you also breed more common stock for use by the servants?"

A slow smile lifted the stable-master's lips. "Aye, we do. And since we raise up not just horses, but also those who will care for and train them, we even have a small selection of exceedingly plain mounts – culls and the like – that have been trained for practise by the stable boys and grooms. Now not all of those are adequately trained, it depends on the aptitude and place in training of the boy who had their schooling, but there are at least a handful with nice manners. If you'd like, we can start with these least valuable of our mounts and work our way up toward the more well-bred stock."

Zevran grinned broadly, "It would suit me very well," he said agreeably.

"Good. Would you prefer to see them formally in the menage, or...?"

"In the field or stable is fine, wherever they happen to be. I would not have my visit disrupt the normal work of the farm any more than is necessary," Zevran said. This won him an approving nod from the stable-master.

They saw Ari's tack removed and the stallion turned out into a paddock to enjoy himself while they were looking at horses, then set off along a laneway toward one of the more distant barns. Zevran looked over the horses in the fields they were passing, and was pleased with what he saw; healthy horses of all different types, with good conformation, in a wide palette of different coat colours.

He could tell when they grew close to the training areas; the quality of the stock took a marked downturn, and rather than each small group of horses being homogenous in type, they were suddenly mixed lots, with everything from ponies to draft horses all in together. Many of them had noticeable faults in conformation; cow hocks, sway backs, pig eyes, knife necks, and so forth. A few had clearly been culled because of unfortunate combinations of coat colour and markings; most of those were too memorable in appearance for Zevran to have any interest in them.

When they reached the barn, the stable-master issued orders to the stable boys working there, and soon had a collection of the culls for Zevran to look over. Zevran was pleased to see that the man had avoided calling for any that were too noticeably poor in conformation or ugly in coat colour. And that all the ones he'd called for were well-trained. Zevran examined the horses, watched several of them being lunged, and rode a couple. None in the first group suited him. A second group was assembled, of somewhat better horses, than a third, before he finally found one he liked enough to have set aside; a big raw-boned gelding, with a shaggy mouse-dun coat. It had a long neck and a narrow head, and a rather evil look in its eyes, the sort of horse you'd expect from looks alone to be a biter, but it actually had good manners and very smooth gaits.

He didn't see any other horses among the culls that he liked, so they moved on to a different barn, where horses that had been bred for distance riding were stabled. Here Zevran quickly settled on a second gelding, an undistinguished liver chestnut with two white socks and nice gaits.

They had lunch at the main house, the stable-master talking with Fenris about Ari during the meal. He seemed pleased by the elf's obvious affection for the stallion. He also took the opportunity to enquire if the elf would be willing to visit the farm occasionally so that Ari could be bred. Fenris was quite willing to do so, the stables being an easy day-trip away from the city, and that made the man even happier. He promised he'd send word to Fenris at the castle once a suitable mare came into season.

The horses were ready to leave by the time the meal was over, the mouse-dun having been clipped smooth in the interim. As it was likely to be ticklish for a day or two, it was on a lead behind the liver chestnut, who'd been tacked up for Zevran to ride. The stable would see to the return of the horse he'd ridden on the way here. He thanked the stable-master for his help, and they set off back to the city.

"Do you think I can join you on your mornings rides, now that I have horses of my own, or do you prefer the solitude?" Zevran asked.

Fenris glanced sideways at him, and smiled. "Having company sometimes would be nice," he said agreeably.

"Good," Zevran said, grinning widely. "Than I shall go along whenever I can."

* * *

Isabela enjoyed her final evening in Starkhaven, even though it involved nothing more exciting than dinner with Sebastian, Anders, Fenris and Zevran in Anders' cottage. She thought the cottage was quite charming, and the only thing that could have made the friendly gathering better would have been if there had been a companion for herself there.

Still, she was hardly going to turn up her nose at a chance to spend time with such a good-looking collection of men, and enjoyed herself imagining Varric's reaction to her descriptions of the four and their interactions when she next reached Kirkwall. Which wouldn't be too long; Sebastian was paying her handsomely to carry messages – both official and personnel – from himself and the others to Aveline and Varric, as well as gifts for Aveline, Donnic, and young Roland.

A pity she was unlikely to make it back this way any time soon; the draft of her ship was too deep to travel the Minanter safely for much of the year. Even after just the handful of days she's spent here, the river level had dropped enough from its spring runoff high toward normal summer levels to have her worrying a little. Not too much, not yet, but she was glad that she'd finished taking on cargo already and could leave at first light the next morning.

After a dinner squeezed in around the small table in Anders' kitchen they retired upstairs to his study, a delightfully cozy space, and sat up drinking and talking, mainly reminiscing over their years together in Kirkwall. Afterwards, Sebastian himself escorted her down to her ship; himself and a group of his guards, that is. She could have stayed in the castle another night if she'd wished, but she was anxious to be on her way again. Even had it not been for the water levels – well, she never had liked staying in any single port too long. Kirkwall had been an exception, one she'd had little choice about.

They said good-bye on the dock by her ship, both of them carefully formal. As she was about to turn away to cross the gangplank, Sebastian stopped her, and gave her a surprisingly affectionate hug, something he'd certainly never have done back in Kirkwall.

"You _have_ changed," she told him, surprised.

He grinned. "For the better, I hope."

She smiled warmly at him. "Well, _I_ certainly like the change," she said, and leaned over to kiss him. Politely; she made it a brief kiss to the cheek, nothing more.

Sebastian smiled back at her with equal warmth afterwards, "It was good to see you again, Isabela," he said. "Even if you can't visit again, do write; I'm sure I'm not the only one here who would enjoy hearing from you occasionally."

Isabela grinned. "I'll do that," she promised. "Good-bye, Sebastian."

"Fare well, Isabela," he said, and watched her board her ship. He raised his hand, then turned and walked away, his guards falling in behind him.

A pity this place was so far inland; she'd enjoyed seeing the four men again. It would have been nice to spend more time with them. But at sea on the deck of her ship was where she belonged, not in some backwater country that didn't even have a saltwater port.

Still, she was going to miss them.


	103. Bodyguards

When Zevran sent word that he had a pair of candidates for Ewan's bodyguards that he wanted Sebastian to meet, the prince happily made time in his busy schedule to go with him and meet them. Zevran had the pair waiting in a private room at an inn in the middle city.

The first thing that struck Sebastian was how dissimilar the two were. The second thing that struck him was how very young the smaller of the two was, a starved-looking elven boy who couldn't have been more than seven, perhaps eight years of age, with tangled jet-black hair and wide, dark blue eyes. He was dressed in an stained and unravelling adult-sized sweater, the sleeves bunched up to make them short enough for his skinny arms, the lower hem hitting him below the knees, bare grimy legs and feet sticking out beneath, his calloused soles almost black with grime. A length of ragged cloth belted in the sweater at the waist. He did not appear to be wearing any other article of clothing, flashes of bare skin showing through the more badly laddered parts of the sweater.

The second person was older, in his mid to late twenties perhaps; human, with shaggy dirty blond hair, dark brown eyes, and well-tanned skin. His battered mix of plate and leather armour, and his scars, tattoos, and muscular build had Sebastian pegging him as a mercenary even before Zevran began introductions. His guess proved right; the man, one Dylan by name, proved to be an ex-mercenary, looking to retire to a less strenuous profession after an injury had left him with a game leg. He was, Zevran assured the prince, very adept with his weapons, and well able to fight, just no longer able to travel any appreciable distance on foot.

The urchin proved to be an orphan, whose mother had sickened and died when the pair were passing through Starkhaven the winter before this. He didn't talk much, and from what Zevran had been able to draw out of him, he didn't know from where he'd come, not even if it had been from upstream or down, nor where he and his mother had been travelling to. The little he could describe of where he'd lived before Starkhaven could have been any small hamlet anywhere in the watershed of the Minanter. His name was Pic – likely a diminutive of something, but the boy didn't remember any other name – and Zevran explained that he was very good with the knives hidden in his clothes. That made Sebastian raise his eyebrows and take a second, closer look at the child – he hadn't even realized the starved-looking boy was armed.

"Take him in as a playmate and servant for the boy," Zevran told him, very seriously. "He can sleep in Ewan's room, and accompany him everywhere he goes without anyone remarking on it. He is young enough and small enough that he would likely be overlooked by most intruders as 'just a child', but his life on the streets has made him very wary, and adept at spotting potential dangers. I will continue his training in knife work, among other skills he should learn. He is already very skilled for his age as it is; when I am done with his training, there will be no better companion to guard Ewan's back. For that matter, you should allow me to give both Ewan and Niawen some lessons in handling weapons; people do not expect children to be able to defend themselves, and it will give them that much more chance of surviving if there ever is a serious attempt made on their lives."

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. "I will consider it, but I cannot give you a decision now," he said, then looked questioningly at the boy. "Would you like to do this, Pic?" he asked. "To live in the castle, and learn from Zevran?"

The boy shrugged. "Lots a food 'n off th' street, easy work... yeah, I'd do it."

Sebastian smiled slightly. "And better clothing, and regular hot baths, and a few other things," he said, and looked at Zevran. "Well. I am satisfied that you know what you're doing with your choices. What next?"

Zevran smiled. "I will see Dylan and Pic properly outfitted and dressed in the colours of Ewan's household, discuss their duties further with them, and bring them up to the castle this afternoon so they can be introduced to their charge."

Sebastian nodded. "Do you need any money for the outfitting? Or shall I pay you back later?"

"Later is fine," Zevran said. "It will be some hours until we're done; I will bring them by your office when everything is prepared."

Sebastian nodded, and left him to it.

* * *

Zevran took a final look at the pair, nodded in satisfaction, and went to knock on the door of Sebastian's study. "Sebastian? I've brought the bodyguards," he said quietly.

Sebastian quickly abandoned whatever he'd been working on, and came out to his sitting room to greet the two. Zevran smiled as he saw a look of surprise cross the prince's face as he saw the transformation Zevran had wrought on the pair.

They'd been bathed and had their hair cut, and looked entirely respectable now. They were wearing outfits that, while matching in colour and materials, were vastly different in style; both wore long-sleeved dark green linen shirts and leggings of dark brown sueded leather, but apart from that their outfits diverged significantly. Dylan was wearing what was essentially amour – breast and back plates, shoulder guards, thick wristlets that covered his forearms from wrist to elbow, a skirt of wide leather strips that fell to mid-thigh, and tall boots, all in heavy golden-brown leather – over top of his clothing. Pic had a simple sleeveless belted long vest that covered his torso and upper legs, of the same heavy leather; effectively armour, but not obviously so.

The long sleeves of their shirts and the leggings hid most of Dylan's scars and tattoos, and disguised Pic's current painful skinniness. Dylan's clothing was fitted closely to his body, so the armour would fit comfortably over it without wrinkles or binding, while Pic's outfit was loose enough for him to both grow into as he put on weight, and to keep his weapons concealed within but still accessible. Sebastian judged that the boy had at least two daggers – one in his left sleeve, and one in a sheath strapped to his right ankle - and was likely carrying more, knowing Zevran. Pic's bare feet made him smile, reminding him as it did of Fenris. Though he hoped the boy would be less resistant to wearing warm footwear come winter than the warrior was.

"Well, I suppose I should take you two to meet Ewan," he said, smiling, and led them out of his suite and down the hall to Ewan's apartment.

He'd visited Ewan earlier to let him know he was getting a pair of extra servants all his own, whom he'd explained as a bodyguard and a playmate, thinking it best to keep Pic's additional role a close secret. As soon as he entered the room with Zevran, Pic and Dylan in tow, Ewan was on his feet and running over to meet them. He was big-eyed at the sight of his tall, broad-shouldered new bodyguard, but obviously most curious about the boy. Sebastian introduced him to both, then let him take Pic off to meet Niawen and Tighe, while Sebastian introduced Dylan to Meridwen.

She eyed the man warily, obviously preferring to reserve judgement until she'd had a chance to get to know him better. Dylan, for his part, was as polite and well-spoken as he could be. After he'd been introduced Zevran took him off on a tour of the suite, doubtless making sure to point out all the possible entrances and any security measures Dylan needed to be aware of.

Sebastian remained behind to talk with Meridwen and watch the children for a while. Dylan would be on guard during the day within the suite, Sebastian explained to her, and was to accompany Ewan anywhere he went outside of his rooms. Pic was to be an additional companion and servant for Ewan, and would sleep in his room at night; a trundle bed would be brought in for him before evening.

After returning from the tour of the apartment, Dylan quickly found a place where he could stand and see all entrances to the room, and took up the relaxed yet watchful stance of someone with many hours of standing guard under his belt. Sebastian made note that he'd have to introduce the man to Cerin later, and make sure that the Guard-Captain knew the man's hiring had been no reflection on the castle guards, but simply part of properly establishing Ewan with his own household of trusted servants that answered to him. Him and Sebastian, at least until the boy was of age to manage his own affairs, but eventually to him alone. It was a very good position for Dylan; if he performed his duties well, and won the friendship and trust of his charge, then some day when the boy was old enough to need a bigger retinue Dylan might well be a Guard-Captain himself, in charge of all the guards within Ewan's household.

Pic had been very quiet and reserved at first, but Ewan's enthusiastic friendliness and Niawen's easy acceptance of his addition to their small group soon him had relaxing enough to make some effort towards joining them in their play. Even before Zevran and Dylan returned, he was kneeling on the floor with the other two, listening intently while Ewan and Niawen explained to him the rules of some game of make-believe they were playing with the aid of a collection of carved wooden blocks in assorted shapes, and a set of small soft dolls.

Meridwen edged closer to Sebastian, frowning slightly as she watched Pic. "He's so skinny," she murmured quietly.

"Aye, he needs feeding up," Sebastian agreed softly. "He's an orphan – doesn't even remember where he came from. Maker only knows where Zevran found him; the streets somewhere, I'd guess. Zevran will be giving him some additional training," he added, and saw her eyes light up with comprehension; she was an intelligent woman and was well-aware of Zevran's background.

She nodded thoughtfully, looking at the boy with greater interest. "Well. I'll certainly see that he gets fed properly. And educated in everything he needs to know to serve a Vael," she added with a warm smile as she watched the three children playing, a sudden brief smile crossing the elven boy's face as Tighe tried to squirm into the middle of the playing.

Sebastian smiled as well; he suspected Meridwen would be mothering the boy before the day was out, and hoped Pic would allow her to do so. He could likely use some mothering.

He was, he decided, well-pleased with Zevran's choices. The assassin was right; no one would think, looking at Pic, that he was as much a bodyguard for Ewan as the much more obvious armsman standing in the corner was.


	104. Circling In

Anders looked around the garden thoughtfully as he crossed it on his way to the guardhouse, making tentative plans about what to work on later that day. He had some replanting around the re-dug and cleaned pond to finish, and then some more thinning and cutting back to do in the still-overgrown parts of the garden. But overall he was quite pleased with its progress, especially the herb and vegetable gardens planted beside the cottage, both of which were sprouting well already.

He said farewell to the dogs at the gate. Ashes still regularly accompanied him to the clinic, but it was mainly out of habit now. Though it was nice to have the cat around to relax with in between seeing patients when he could. And Ashes was good about allowing patients to pet or play with him, retreating to the upstairs loft or some other out-of-bounds area once he decided he'd had enough.

"Morning, Dugall, Sister Maura," Anders said with a broad smile once he reached the clinic.

"Anders," Dugall said, nodding in greeting, then smiled. "Our new staff member arrived this morning."

"Really? Wonderful," Anders said, smiling broadly. "Sebastian hadn't mentioned that he'd found anyone yet. But then things have been rather busy of late; it must have slipped his mind."

"I'll go fetch her so you can meet her," Dugall said, and headed upstairs to the loft.

Anders leaned on the wall beside the door into the dispensary, discussing their stocks of medicines, poultices, potions, and other supplies with Sister Maura until he heard Dugall return. He turned, a smile on his face, and froze, staring.

"Bridie!" he exclaimed. He hadn't seen the girl since Kirkwall; she'd helped out in his clinic sometimes, but her main association with him had been because of her role in the mage underground. She, herself, was a mage, though not a very powerful one, having just enough creation magic to do a little minor healing, and enough elemental magic to light candles and fires.

"Anders," she said, calmly. She was looking well, he noted, well-fed and nicely dressed, standing straight with her hands clasped loosely together in front of her. She'd been a nervous little thing back in Kirkwall, more likely to have her shoulders hunched and her nail-bitten hands clenched in the fabric of her ragged dress than to ever stand straight.

He could feel the eyes of Dugall on him. And his guards, who were doubtless now on alert in case the girl proved to be a danger to him. "I... haven't seen you since Kirkwall," he said hesitantly. "How have you been? What are you doing here?" he asked.

She smiled. "I've been hired to work here," she said. "As to me... I'm well enough. I had a hard time for a while after I left Kirkwall, until I reached Starkhaven; things here are much better for the displaced than they are elsewhere," she pointed out.

"Aye, they are," he agreed. "So you came in as a refugee?"

"Yes," she said, offering no further details.

Dugall was still looking curiously at the pair of them, he realized, and doubtless Sister Maura was doing the same. He looked back and forth between them and quickly explained. "Bridie and I knew each other in Kirkwall; she used to help out in my clinic there sometimes," he said, and smiled warm approval at the girl. "I'm sure you'll do very well here as well, especially since you already have some pretty solid experience in helping out in a similar situation."

"I believe I will, too," she said, smiling slightly. "I was very pleased to hear of the opportunity to work with you again. We did much good back in Kirkwall."

"Yes," he agreed, smiling warmly at her. "So, have Dugall and Sister Maura had time to give you a proper tour of the place yet, and explain what your duties will be?" he asked.

Bridie nodded. "Yes, I've been shown everything. This is a very nice clinic; far better than your old one in Darktown," she said. "I'm sure it must be very rewarding to work in such nice surroundings after what you had to suffer with in Kirkwall."

"Err... yes," he agreed, not entirely sure how to take her words. "It's nice to have such a well-equipped place to work. Anyway, we should get ready to open for the day," he added, looking to Dugall and Sister Maura again.

"Right," Dugall agreed. "Bridie, would you like to help? You don't have to, it being your first day and all..."

She smiled warmly at him. "I would at least like to observe," she said. "And I'm certainly willing to help out if it is needed."

Anders headed off with Sister Maura to examine the pair of overnight patients that were currently in the clinic. By the time he came back, Bridie was seated to one side of the room, with a good view of the examining table, and the first pair of patients were just coming in the door.

He soon forgot her presence, working on examining and treating patients as he was. She'd vanished back up to the loft by the time clinic finished for the day, presumably to sleep so that she'd be well-rested to look after the overnight patients.

Picking up Ashes, he headed back to his cottage. He'd have lunch with the others, and then work on his garden. He wondered wistfully if Sebastian would have time to join him on that again any time soon; he'd been so busy since their return to the castle, they hadn't been able to spend much time together. Apart from stolen moments such as the night Sebastian had spent with him, the memory of which brought a warm smile to Anders' face.

* * *

"The overnight help?" Sebastian said, then smiled. "Oh, yes, I'd been told someone had been found; I meant to mention it to you. Is the person suitable?"

"Very," Anders said, smiling warmly at him across the table. "Turned out to be a girl that used to help out in my Darktown clinic. Very handy with bandages and so on; she should be more than capable to keep an eye on the overnight patients."

"Glad to hear it," Sebastian said, then looked over at Zevran. "How are you finding your new horses, Zevran?"

Zevran smiled widely. "Very nice. My poor dun gelding looks very out of place stabled in among the royal mounts, but I like him very much; he is a perfect gentleman, even if he does look rather a brute. I think it hurts the pride of your stable boys that I ride him in such poor-looking tack. So I have allowed them to fix me up a better set for my other horse."

Fenris was looking a little amused. "We present quite the contrast when riding together."

Zevran's grin widened. "Yes. The people call Fenris 'Prince Elf', and seem to think me his servant. I do not object, of course, the best lie is one people think up for themselves. If they choose to think me less than I am..." he shrugged, and smiled again, looking amused.

"Did you name your horses yet, Zevran? Or did they come with names?"

Zevran shrugged. "They may have had names before; I did not enquire. I suppose I should think up names for them."

Anders perked up. "I could help you think up something..."

Zevran gave him a look. "Considering I know the sort of names you like to chose for animals, I believe I will pass."

Anders pouted slightly. "What's wrong with the names I choose?"

"Please, Anders... Mr Wiggums, Ser Pounce-A-Lot, Fluffynugget the First, and Fuzzywumpkins are all charming names, if you like that sort of cuteness, but it is hardly the style of name I would wish for my horses."

"Fluffynugget the First?" Sebastian asked, amused, and looked questioningly at Anders.

Anders blushed, then laughed. "Ser Pounce-A-Lot fathered a litter once. Well, once where we know for sure it was him and not some other cat that did the deed. The mother was this terribly high-bred long-haired, flat-faced beast from Orlais..."

"An Orlesian warden brought it with her to Vigil's Keep; her pet. She was almost as crazy about felines as Anders is, though snooty about it; she did not think much of _common_ cats," Zevran explained. "She was quite incensed that Pounce got at her pedigree whatever-it-was. The last two names I mentioned were what Anders wanted to name the resulting kittens."

"They're perfectly good names," Anders insisted petulantly, then laughed at the looks he was being given by the other three men. "All right, if perhaps a little juvenile in tone."

"Anyway, I have decided on names for my horses," Zevran said casually. "I shall call the mouse dun Feo, and my chestnut Tipo."

Sebastian gave the assassin an amused look. He understood a little Antivan; enough to know the elf had just named his horses 'ugly' and 'kind'.

"Feo?" Anders said thoughtfully. "That sounds rather nice."

"It suits him," Zevran said, and turned his attention back to his food, clearly considering the issue dealt with.

After the meal Sebastian went to his office to finish off the last remaining work for the day. He was hoping to join Anders in his garden for a little while, if he finished early enough. Unfortunately, it ws not to be; he was down to the last two documents in the stack when a servant appeared, with a message from the chantry; Revered Mother Glynis was requesting his presence at the chantry as soon as possible. She did not say why, but he immediately put aside what was left of his work and went to change into suitable clothing; she was not one to arbitrarily summon him for no particular reason. If she asked to see him, it was doubtless something important.


	105. Worrisome News

Sebastian left his guards outside the door as he was shown into Revered Mother Glynis' office.

"Your Reverence," he said, giving her a formal bow of greeting.

"Prince Vael," she said, bowing back. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," he said, and they both moved to take seats in the informal grouping of chairs near the fireplace. He could not quite suppress a smile, remembering when he and Anders had been here the year before, to discuss the Ansburg refugees with Glynis; Anders and his cat.

"What did you wish to see me about, Your Reverence?" he asked, looking questioningly at Glynis.

"About this," she said, picking up a folded letter and handing it to him. "Given your rather unique relationship with the chantry as both a brother in the chantry and as the ruler of Starkhaven, I felt that the news contained in this was something I should be certain that you were well aware of," she said.

Sebastian accepted the letter and rapidly read it over. He was elated at first – it was word that the Divine had finally selected a new Grand Cleric for the Free Marches. But as he read on, his initial smile turned to a concerned frown, then to outright worry. He handed the letter back to Glynis, who looked just as concerned as he was feeling. "An Orlesian? That will not sit well with the people of the Free Marches. Elthina was one of our own."

"Too much so for the Divine's tastes, I fear," Glynis said, and pursed her lips for a moment. "I believe the Divine wishes to extend her power more firmly in other areas of Thedas during this time of unrest. I have heard from an old friend who now serves in the Val Royeaux chantry that the Divine is also planning to appoint an Orlesian to Ferelden; the current Grand Cleric there is old, and ill, and the Divine is already considering possible replacements for her as well."

Sebastian gave her a startled look. "Fereldans will never stand for an Orlesian being appointed to such a vital position. Not when Orlais still considers Ferelden to be little more than a rebellious province, a fact of which most Fereldans are rather bitterly aware. For that matter, given that Orlais is currently at war with Nevarra, I find it difficult to see how the Divine believes that appointing an Orlesian to be Grand Cleric here will be at all accepted."

Glynis nodded. "What I find most worrisome is the word that the new Grand Cleric will not be based out of Kirkwall – there no longer being a suitable chantry there – and is instead planning to begin her appointment with a tour of the major cities of the Free Marches to select a new seat. Kirkwall is obviously out of the running for consideration, as is Nevarra City because of the war. Ansburg burned almost entirely and may never recover; Ostwick is tiny and has had considerable unrest as well. Which means the only two locations under any serious consideration are Tantervale, and Starkhaven."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "And we are in far better shape at the moment than Tantervale; they are overwhelmed with refugees from the war in Nevarra, which they were ill-prepared for. Just today I received word that they have had rioting among the refugees after an outbreak of a pox that has caused great sickness among the very young and the very old in the camps there."

Glynis nodded. "That fits with my feelings on the matter. I believe that Starkhaven will become the new seat of the Grand Cleric for the Free Marches; if it happens, I am not sure if I will be retained as the Revered Mother here, or shuttled off to some other location; both Kirkwall and Ansburg are sorely in need of a new Mother."

"I suppose we will not know until she arrives. It is a lengthy voyage that is proposed; with the war in Nevarra, this new Grand Cleric Odile will have to sail the length of the Waking Sea, north up the coast, and all the way back west again via the Minanter. Well, I suppose it will at least be some time before we have to deal with her."

"Not as long as you might wish, I'm afraid; this letter was sent overland from Kirkwall, when her ship docked there. Unless she stopped there or in Ostwick for longer than a few days, her ship may well have reached the mouth of the Minanter already. Or more accurately, _ships_. Given the current unrest, the Divine had apparently seen fit to send Grand Cleric Odile out with a heavy guard; a sizable force of templars travels with her. My contact was unable to give me an exact number, but she believes it may number as many as a hundred templars. Possibly more."

Sebastian frowned. Not only a new Grand Cleric, who was proposing to descend on his city near-unannounced, but in force. One who might not be as sympathetic to his goals and decisions as Revered Mother Glynis had so far proven to be. And whom he might well be saddled with as a permanent part of the political landscape in his capital. He did not like the news at all."

"I thank you for seeing I heard this news as promptly as possible, Your Reverence. If you'll excuse me, I would like to withdraw and think about this. May I come speak with your further on this topic tomorrow?"

"Of course, Prince Vael," Glynis said, and smiled warmly at him. "Send word whenever you wish to speak with me; I will see that I am free to accommodate you."

"My thanks," he said, rose and bowed to her, and withdrew.


	106. A Brief Moment

Anders looked up when he heard the door to his cottage open, and smiled when he saw it was Sebastian coming out into the garden. The smile changed to a frown when he took in Sebastian's frown and his outfit; what he was wearing was not anything at all suited for working in a garden.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sure that something must be.

Sebastian's mouth thinned. "A lot," he said. He walked over to take a seat on a bench near where Anders was working. "I got a message from the Revered Mother earlier this afternoon, asking me to go see her. She's had word; the Divine has appointed a new Grand Cleric for the Free Marches. An Orlesian one; Odile, her name is. She is on her way here even now, on a progress through the major cities of the Marches in order to determine which chantry will be her seat.

Anders frowned, running through a mental list of the major cities of the Free Marches, then looked at Sebastian. "Almost certainly here or Tantervale, then?"

Sebastian nodded slowly. "Yes. That was what Glynis and I both thought as well. There was a time I would have considered this to be a great honour, and would have happily vied with Tantervale for it. Yet now..." The prince trailed off, and looked down at the ground between his feet. "Now I am not so sure," he finally said, softly.

"Is it just because of the cleric being Orlesian, or... other reasons?" Anders asked, walking over and taking a seat beside Sebastian.

"That is a large part of it, but not the entirety," Sebastian agreed. "Glynnis has also had word that the Grand Cleric is travelling with a sizable force of templars. And after the word Isabela brought us... I must worry if Seekers travel with her as well. One such in particular."

"Reynard."

"Yes," Sebastian said, then sat back and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Maker! Perhaps there's no real reason for me to be worried; it may be that the new Gland Cleric will prove to be as reasonable a person as Glynis is, that the templars with her truly are there just as a safety measure given the unsettled times. That all will be well."

"And the worst case?" Anders asked, already sure of what _he_ thought that might involve.

Sebastian glanced once at Anders, then continued staring at the ground. "That she will be out for your blood. That she will see the resettlement of the Ansburg mages here, and the changes we have made in how mages are treated within Starkhaven, as something to be nipped in the bud, not encouraged. That the templars travel with her to enforce her will." He paused again, then continued, voice hushed. "That I would find myself at odds with the chantry, after it has been such an important part of my life until now."

Anders looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he said.

Sebastian gave him a startled look. "Why?"

"I... guess I feel like it's my fault that you might be being put on the spot like that..."

One corner of Sebastian's mouth lifted slightly. "It is only partially because of you. I think even were you not here, I might still find myself at odds with the chantry. What we are doing here is _right_ ," he said, very seriously. "And I will not see it overturned merely to satisfy dogma."

Anders swallowed, unexpectedly moved by Sebastian's words. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," Sebastian said, and sighed, then sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "It will depend very much on what this Grand Cleric Odile is like; what her intentions are. And that we are unlikely to know until she arrives. I will send word to Knight-Commanders Lawrence and Cullen, asking them to visit here and discuss this with me; I should tell them the news as well, and try to learn what their reaction might be if Odile tries to overturn our arrangements."

"They may have little choice but to obey her," Anders said. "If she controls their lyrium supplies."

"Yes," Sebastian said, bitterly. "It is a great evil what the chantry has done to them; as evil, in its way, as the subjugation of mages, and the destruction of elven culture."

"It is all different facets of the same thing," Anders said. "Control."

Sebastian sighed. "I fear you are right," he said, then abruptly rose to his feet. "Enough of such talk. I will have to deal with enough over the coming days; for now, while I can, I would rather talk of something else," he said. "Or do something else. What are you working on today?"

"I was just finishing when you came out, actually, and thinking of making some tea. Would you like to join me?"

Sebastian smiled warmly at Anders. "I'd like that very much," he agreed, and followed the mage back indoors.


	107. New Arrival

Sebastian looked himself over in the mirror one last time, then sighed, and turned away from it. Word had arrived this morning from the first of the watchers he'd posted downstream; the Grand Cleric's ships had been sighted, as they headed west towards Starkhaven. She should be arriving in mid-afternoon, judging by the reports of subsequent watching posts, unless she stopped for a while before entering the city.

He planned to be at the docks to greet her when she disembarked, and welcome her to Starkhaven. An unofficial greeting, of course – the official one would come tomorrow, or perhaps the day afterwards, at a large gathering held in the castle and attended by the nobles and notables of his city. He was not looking forward to that; large formal parties had never been his favourite thing even in his youth, and he liked them even less after his many quiet years in the chantry.

He walked out to the sitting room, and frowned slightly as he looked at Anders, who was sitting in a chair near the unlit fireplace, a book in one hand that he was clearly paying not the slightest attention to. The mage had been understandably on edge ever since the word of the Grand Cleric's forthcoming arrival in Starkhaven had come the week before; he had resumed taking Ashes everywhere with him to calm his nerves. Today he had both dogs with him as well, and was looking a little pale and stiff. Sebastian walked over and stopped by him for a moment, reach out to lightly touch his cheek.

"Are you sure you'll be fine here?" he asked as Anders looked up at him.

Anders managed a thin smile. "Well enough. It's not like you're leaving me unguarded," he added.

Sebastian smiled back. "Far from it," he agreed; while he was out greeting Grand Cleric Odile, Anders would be with Ewan and Niawen, with both elves along for company and an increased number of guards protecting Ewan's apartments. Sebastian didn't truly foresee anything happening, but if he proved wrong, if some sort of worst-case scenario was acted out down at the docks, he wanted his heirs to have the best possible protection available. He'd made it clear to the guards that if he himself did not return for any reason, that Fenris was again in charge, and he'd seen to it that the guards being assigned to the duty today included a number of the ones who'd been involved in his own rescue. They would not question Fenris' orders, not after they'd worked under him previously and found him to be an intelligent, able commander.

But he sincerely hoped it would not come to that. This should be just an informal greeting, a few words exchanged, before the new Grand Cleric went and settled in at the chantry for her visit here before moving on to her final stop in Tantervale. Or at least what _should_ be her final stop – he very much doubted she would attempt visiting Nevarra City any time soon, given their current hostilities with Orlais.

He had a quiet lunch with his friends, none of them being in a particularly talkative mood. He found himself wishing that he could have Zevran along with him for this first meeting with Odile; the assassin, raised in the hothouse of Antivan politics and having been involved with complex situation in Ferelden in the years since he'd departed Antiva, had a very thorough understanding of politics, and he'd enjoy having Zevran's read on the woman. But apart from how that would remove Zevran from where Sebastian most wanted him to be – guarding Anders and the children – there was the issue that including an assassin in his retinue, for whatever reason and no matter how _ex_ -assassin the elf claimed to be, was not a politically friendly move.

After lunch he went with the three to Ewan's room, and saw them settled in, before he set off down to the docks. He'd arranged a comfortable place to wait in an office at one of the dockside warehouses, and had invited the Revered Mother to wait with him there as well. They sat and talked quietly over tea and little frosted cakes until word finally came that the Grand Cleric's ships were in sight, then made their way out to the docks with their entourages. As it was an informal meeting they had only a small number of people accompanying them; Glynis had a group of her more senior clerics, while Sebastian was attended by two representatives each from his nobles and the merchant guilds, and a small group of guards.

They timed their own progress so that they reached the docks just after the last of the ships had moved to dock. They stood waiting quietly as a small force of templars disembarked and took up positions around the base of the gangplank of the ship flying the pennon of the Grand Cleric from its mast. A sizable enclosed litter, in an ornate Orlesian style, was winched out of a hold and lowered to the dockside, and a group of bearers disembarked and took up position around it. Finally, a procession of clerics and lesser religious emerged from the cabins.

For a moment Sebastian couldn't spot the Grand Cleric, then as the group began to move down the gangplank he finally spotted her. Odile was a short, slender woman, surprisingly young-looking for someone who'd already achieved the position of Grand Cleric. She couldn't have been more than a decade older than he himself was, her dark brown hair only just barely touched with grey. It was pulled severely back in a long thick braid that hung to her knees in back.

As she and her group descended, he and Revered Mother Glynis moved forward. He disliked having to leave his guards behind as they entered the circle of templars, but had little choice; not without showing a level of distrust that would be impolite. They stopped near the foot of the gangway, their retinues gathered behind them, and waited until Odile reached the dock, at which point they both bowed to her. Glynis make the deep bow of lesser cleric to higher, while Sebastian made the much shallower bow – little more than a nod of the head – that was suited to a head of state acknowledging the Grand Cleric's role as the local representative of the Divine, who was considered to be the Maker's representative on Thedas. Odile, in her turn, nodded to both him and Glynis.

As the highest ranked of all three present, it was his place to speak first. "Grand Cleric Odile, I am pleased to welcome you to my lands and city of Starkhaven. I hope to more formally welcome you once you have had a chance to rest from your journey – I am arranging a gathering at the castle tomorrow afternoon, including a formal dinner afterwards, if that would suit you."

Odile nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Prince Vael. That is quite acceptable. If you will excuse me, I would like to proceed to the chantry now; I have much to discuss with Revered Mother Glynis, and I am tired by my journey, as you so rightly guess."

"Of course," Sebastian said, and bowed to her again. "I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon, then."

She nodded in acknowledgement, and he withdrew, leaving Revered Mother Glynis and her people behind. He couldn't stop a small, silent sigh of relief passing his lips as he left the woman's vicinity; the brief meeting had gone reasonably well, he felt. She had neither been confrontational nor demanding. A relatively reassuring first step.

He wanted to hurry back to the castle, but forced himself to maintain a sedate pace, and to stop and chat with the four representatives who'd accompanied him as each separated from the group to return to their places of business or homes. It wasn't until he was back in the relative privacy of the upper hallways of the castle that he finally allowed himself to pick up the pace.

When he entered Ewan's suite, the room fell silent and everyone turned to look at him, even the children.

"And?" Zevran asked, one eyebrow arching high.

"Well enough," Sebastian said. "Dine with me tonight, and we will discuss it further then," he added, taking in Anders, Zevran and Fenris with his look. They nodded, and he turned away to visit with Ewan and Niawen for a while before departing.


	108. Formalities

It was a very quiet lunch, all four of them lost in their thoughts about the upcoming gathering. Not much more was said than "please pass the pickles" and "more wine?"

It was only at the end of the meal as people were rising to their feet to leave that Sebastian finally looked up. "Anders. Come with me," he said. "I have a gift for you."

Anders looked surprised, but waited while Sebastian rose to his feet and saw Zevran and Fenris to the door, then followed Sebastian. They went into the prince's bedroom, where Sebastian withdrew a large parcel from inside his wardrobe, and handed it over to Anders, a slight smile on his face. "I thought you could use some new clothing for the gathering this afternoon," he explained.

Anders smiled, and set the parcel down on the bed before beginning to unwrap it. "More clothes? Don't I have enough already?" he asked with an amused smile, then stopped as he folded back the coarse-woven cloth wrapping and saw the garment neatly folded within. He lifted it up, making a wordless sound of appreciation.

It was a set of robes. There was an underrobe in a satiny blue fabric, so dark as to almost be black, then an overrobe in heavy damasked green silk – not the forest green of Ewan's household, but the more muted, almost asparagus green known locally as Starkhaven green for its inclusion in the livery of the royal servants and guards. The edges of both robe and underrobe were bound with thin gold cord. There was also a capelet of soft white fur, that made Anders smile, recalling as it did the feathered pauldrons of his old robes. The style of the robe was very simple, and compared to the robes of most mages was almost severely plain, but it being a gift from Sebastian, and moreover in the Starkhaven colours – that lent the robes a beauty beyond what cloth and tailor's skill had wrought.

"Put them on," Sebastian said, smiling warmly at him. "I want to see you in them."

Anders hesitated only a moment before beginning to undress. Sebastian watched appreciatively as he stripped down to his smallclothes, then began to dress. First the underrobe, a sleeveless garment with a drawstring waist and laces at the neck, so it could be fitted close enough to the body to prevent drafts. It was done in the style of a split skirt, the full legs looking more like a long skirt than leggings. . Then the long-sleeved robe went on over top of that. It had close-packed button-and-loop closures from the neck to waist, and below that split widely to show the fabric of the underrobe. It had a length of light chain sewn inside the hem to weight it for a proper drape. It had a lapped-over split in back, as well; Anders could ride a horse in this, if he needed to. There was a wide sash in the same green to wrap around the waist, and finally the capelet went over top of it all, fastened in front with a pair of clasps on either end of a short length of gold chain.

Sebastian stepped forward and fixed his collar, drawing the stiffened green fabric out to lie over top of the white fur. He stood for a moment, his hands resting on Anders' shoulders as he looked him over, then smiled. "It looks good," he said, and leaned forward.

Anders closed his eyes and opened his mouth, his hands rising to knot in the fabric of Sebastian's shirt, as he let the other man kiss him. He smiled at Sebastian after it ended. "So, do I get to watch you change into your finery too?" he asked huskily.

Sebastian laughed, then grinned at him. "Be my guest," he said, before stepping back and beginning to strip off his shirt. Anders smiled warmly at him, and moved a step backwards to sit on the edge of the bed, expertly twitching the fabric of his robes into place as he sat down. He stroked one hand along the rich fabric, before looking up and watching Sebastian undoing the laces of his leggings. Sebastian grinned at him as he pushed them down, and raised an eyebrow. "Like what you see?" he asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Anders grinned at him, and gave the Prince a pointed once-over from head to toes and back up again. "Yes," he said thoughtfully. "I think I do."

Sebastian laughed, then walked over to his wardrobe, to get out and put on the close-fitting leggings and padded gambeson that he wore under his armour. His leathers went on over that, than the scale mail coat, and finally the chest and back pieces, boots, and the sleeve armour, all of gold-edged white enamel.

Anders shook his head. "How do you not overheat in so many layers?" he asked in amusement.

Sebastian grinned. "I could ask the same about some of the robes you mages wear. But the answer is that I'm used to wearing this, in all sorts of weather."

Sebastian picked up a comb, and neatly combed his hair, then frowned at Anders. "You need a touch up as well," he said, gesturing with the comb. "May I?" he asked, almost shyly.

Anders smiled at him. "Certainly," he said, and turned as far sideways as he could on the bed as Sebastian walked over.

Sebastian stripped out the tie holding his hair back, and spent a couple of minutes combing it out. Anders smiled at the feeling of the comb moving carefully over his scalp, the other man's hands lightly touching his head as he combed the hair straight, then parted it and drew back the top layer, neatly fastening it off again. When he was done he set his fingertips under Anders' chin, turning his head to face him, and leaned down to ghost another kiss over his lips.

"Well. All ready now?" Sebastian asked, smiling softly at him.

Anders smiled thinly. "I suppose. I'm just wondering over whether or not I should bring Ashes with me."

Sebastian grinned. "Bring him if you want. I'm sure he won't be the only pet there; I know Ewan will be bringing Tighe."

Anders snorted, then smiled. "I'll bring him," he said decisively, then frowned down at his robes. "Do you really think it's all right for me to wear these?"

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "Yes. When I forbade you to wear robes... I didn't want it so obvious what you were. Partially for you own protection, but mainly due to my own anger. That anger is long gone, and I see no reason any longer to hide or downplay what you are, Anders. If you wish to wear robes, than wear them."

Anders drew a deep breath, and smiled. "You know, I was once asked, back in Amaranthine, why I stayed in my robes, even though they made it that much easier for the templars to spot me. At the time I said it was because I preferred to openly be what I was, rather than pretend to be something else; that it was not me that needed changing, but the way the world saw me. I... want to be that man again, I think. Thank you, for the robes, and for reminding me."

"You're welcome," Sebastian said. He reached out and cupped his hand against Anders' cheek. "I think you are closer every day to being that man. And I am glad for it," he said. He leaned his forehead against Anders' for a moment, then straightened again. "And now I should go and see that everything is ready for the party. Stay here until it's time for you to come to the party as well; your guard will know when to fetch you."

Anders nodded. They returned to the sitting room. Anders watched Sebastian leave, then found a book and a seat, and settled in to wait.

* * *

Sebastian stood near his throne, and looked down the length of the room. The room and its occupants glittered, the expensive clothes of his nobles and richest merchants and the guildmasters filling the large room with glitter and colour. Only about half the expected guests had arrived so far; enough for the room to be suitably crowded for the expected entrance of the new Grand Cleric. He'd just had word of her arrival at the castle a few minutes ago; she should be entering the room any moment now.

He'd no sooner thought the words when the herald at the door knocked the butt of his ceremonial mace against the floor. "Her Grace Odile, Grand Cleric of the Free Marches. Her Reverence Glynis, Revered Mother of Starkhaven..." he continued on for some time, announcing the more highly ranked members of their joint retinue.

Sebastian moved down the steps of the dais, to greet Odile at floor level, as a mark of special recognition. He bowed, she bowed, they exchanged a few stiffly formal words of official greeting, delivered in carrying voices.

At his signal a second ornate chair was carried in and placed near his own throne – not beside it, but a little to one side and forward, angled towards his, an informal arrangement – and he saw her to the seat himself, politely offering her his arm to walk up the few steps to the top and take her seat, before he moved to take his own. Glynis and some of the highest raked members of Odile's retinue moved to stand on the steps just below Odile's chair, the rest withdrawing to the side of the room.

The two of them exchanged polite nothings, social noise about how she'd found her stay in Starkhaven so far, her lengthy journey from Orlais, and so forth.

"Lord Ewan Vael, Lady Niawen Taylor FitzVael, Mistress Meridwen Taylor, and companions," the herald announced. Sebastian rose again, and smiled as Ewan broke away from his party and ran along the carpet, Tighe racing at his heels. He knew the boy had been instructed in proper deportment for being presented at the party, and clearly he'd forgotten it already in his excitement over getting to attend.

Sebastian rose and hurried down the stairs, and caught the boy as he flung himself at Sebastian, finding himself grinning at the unrepentant grin the boy was giving him when he straightened up with him in his arms. "Scamp," he said softly. "You know better."

"Sorry, Sebastian... Prince Vael," Ewan said. "I forgot."

Sebastian snorted, then put him back down, holding the boy's hand and smiling warmly at him while waiting for Niawen, who'd maintained a decorous pace the whole length of the room, to reach them. He took her by the hand as well, and led the two of them up the steps to be introduced to the Grand Cleric.

"Your Grace, may I present my cousin, Lord Ewan Vael, and my niece, Lady Niawen Taylor FitzVael," he said in formal tones.

"Your Grace," both children said, and gave properly deep bows to the Grand Cleric, she smiled slightly, and bowed her head to them, after which Sebastian saw them back to Meridwen and Pic, and the group of them went off to circulate around the room. Sebastian smiled as he returned to his seat.

More guests entered, some few coming forward to greet Sebastian and the Grand Cleric, others moving to the sides of the room, awaiting the formal introductions later.

"Bann Zevran Arainai of Blackmarsh, and Ser Fenris of Starkhaven," the herald boomed out.

Sebastian felt his eyebrows wanting to rise, and had to control his expression. Zevran was a Bann? He'd never mentioned that previously. Then he felt them wanting to rise again when he saw the pair of elves walking up the carpet toward the dais. He suspected that Zevran was behind their outfits; they seemed to suit his theatrical flair.

Zevran was wearing tight black leggings tucked into thigh-high black boots with an abundance of buckles – rather like Isabela's favourite pair – topped with a shirt of raw silk so white is almost seemed to glow. A blue sash was wrapped around his waist and over one shoulder, a pair of daggers thrust through it; ornate ones, the gold hilts shaped like dragon's heads, each holding a round star-sapphire in its fanged mouth. The shoulder of the sash was fastened with a golden brooch as large as Sebastian's palm, in the shape of a dog; a mabari warhound, he realized.

Fenris was dressed in matte black and glittering silver from head to toe. He was in sueded black leather leggings, with silver piping up the outside seams, topped with a black velvet tunic with heavy silver embroidery around the hem, cuffs, and neck. He looked... dangerous, as he paced warily along behind Zevran, looking more like a bodyguard than a guest.

Zevran strolled all the way up the carpet to the floor in front of the throne, and bowed deeply to Sebastian and the Grand Cleric in turn, with a shallower bow to the Revered Mother. Fenris merely nodded his head to all three, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings.

"Prince Sebastian, your Grace, your Reverence," Zevran said, smiling charmingly at the two women before turning back to Sebastian, an almost expectant expression on his face.

"Bann Zevran," Sebastian said, smiling welcomingly at him. "I am glad you are able to attend."

Zevran grinned toothily. "I am glad that I was invited," he said. "Your hospitality during my stay has been impeccable."

Sebastian smiled again. "It is the least I could do. But we should speak later."

"Of course," Zevran said, and swept an extravagant bow toward Sebastian and the two clerics, before turning and strolling off, Fenris following silently behind.

"Who was that elf?" Grand Cleric Odile asked, frowning after him.

"Bann Zevran Aranai, of Ferelden – one of the Blight Companions," Sebastian replied, certain that this was exactly why Zevran had made such a show of himself; so that Sebastian could mention his connection to Soria Mahariel. "He is guesting with me at the Hero of Ferelden's request."

Odile looked mildly thoughtful at the news, but did not ask anything further, her attention instead going to the door, where a collection of templars and mages were entering. "And what is this?" she asked, a touch sharply.

"Oh, I have a small scriptorium and school here, staffed by some of the refugees we have taken in; their work as copyists helps to support the cost of maintaining the rest in a secure location," he said casually. "I thought it would be fitting to allow the templars to attend, and they could not leave their charges unguarded, of course."

"Of course," she said, dryly, and watched with a slight frown creasing her brow as they moved out into the room, splitting into templar-mage pairs and merging with the other guests.

Sebastian noticed a second, much smaller group coming in behind the templars and mages, and felt a small surge of joy at seeing Anders, wearing his robes and walking along with Ashes draped over his arm, flanked by Dugall, Sister Maura, and the newest staff member. Sister Maura was wearing a chantry robe, while Dugall and the new girl had been supplied outfits that coordinated with Anders' new robes. They were both in leggings in the same blue-black as his underrobe and tunics in Starkhaven green, edged at hem and neck with thin gold cord, with the Starkhaven hart embroidered in white on the left breast. The group was trailed by Anders' guards, looking around more alertly than usual.

They slipped off to one side, merging into the crowds milling long the two long walls. Grand Cleric Odile did not seem to have noticed them, though by the thoughtful look Glynis was giving him, the Revered Mother had.

Time dragged on, the small talk with occasional interruptions continuing until it was time for the formal introductions to be done. The herald slammed his mace against the floor several times to signal for silence, then called for the beginning. Sebastian stood and offered Odile his arm, and led her back down to floor level, the Revered Mother following to stand on the other side of her. Meridwen showed up to stand nearby with Ewan and Niawen; they were too young to need to stand in the receiving line themselves, but it would be good for them to watch it, and begin to become familiar with some of the faces of the more important citizens of Starkhaven.

By then the beginning of the line of guests had sorted themselves out, and the first noble and his wife came forward to be recognized, and introduced by Sebastian to the Grand Cleric. It was a lengthy and tedious ceremony, made no easier by the delicious smells beginning to drift in from the neighbouring banqueting hall, where the first course of dinner was being set out in preparation for the meal to begin. Thankfully not everyone in the hall needed to be introduced; just the nobles and the assorted guildmasters, and some of the wealthiest merchants. Zevran, by right of his title of Bann, showed up among the tail end of the nobles, Fenris still walking stiffly at his back.

Finally the introductions were over, and Sebastian again offered the Grand Cleric his arm, and led the way into dinner. It was a lengthy meal, of four courses, that seemed to drag on forever, though all told it couldn't have been more than two hours in length. At the end Odile rose and said a few words thanking Sebastian for his warm welcome. He rose in turn and responded in kind, formal words of parting were exchanged, and she and her retinue left. Sebastian said farewell to the remainder of his guests, and then withdrew as well, looking forward to getting back to the quiet and privacy of his own rooms.

He would have to go to the chantry tomorrow for a formal meeting with her; he was looking forward to it even less than he'd looked forward to this welcoming party.


	109. A New Doctrine

Sebastian had agonized for some time this morning over what to wear for his meeting with Grand Cleric Odile. What he wore would be seen as making a statement, and he did not want it to be the wrong one. It could not be anything too casual – that would seem as if he did not regard the meeting as important. Too plain would make him seem penitent; too ornamented would be ostentatious. Neither could it be his armour, no matter how comforting it might be to him to wear, for _that_ would be too hostile and untrusting.

In the end he settled for dressing as what he was, a Prince. He wore pale grey leggings in glove-soft leather, with matching ankle boots, a full-sleeved white silk shirt with considerable goldwork around the collar and cuffs, under a vest of patterned black velvet. He wore a single boot dagger, the exposed hilt of smooth white halla horn carved in the shape of a leaping hart; a family heirloom, a gift from the Dalish to one of his ancestors in thanks for the treaty that allowed them free passage through the lands of Starkhaven.

He walked to the chantry, accompanied by a reasonable force of guards, whom he left waiting outside for him, just two of them accompanying him inside to the office of the Revered Mother, now in use by Grand Cleric Odile. He left the guards outside in the hallway, and entered the office, keeping his face carefully neutral as he took in the numerous changes that had been made to the decor of the office - just temporarily, he fervently hoped. Glynis' large plain desk and comfortable seating had been replaced with spindly-legged pieces in a florid Orlesian style. Grand Cleric Odile sat on a particularly ornate chair; one raised high enough off the floor that it included a small step-stool that she was using as a foot-rest.

The chair for Sebastian was neither as ornate nor as sizable; his jaw set in dislike for the obvious attempt to intimidate him through furniture as he took the seat after exchanging informal nods of greeting with the Grand Cleric. And through decor as well, he thought, taking note of the sizable tapestry of Andraste hung on the wall in back on Odile. Andraste at the stake, the first flames just flicking around the base of the pyre; the fire that would torment her until Archon Hessarian, pictured among the witnesses to one side, gave her mercy with a thrust of his sword. The fire that would in the end leave nothing of her but ashes, or so legend said.

It was a very private audience; apart from himself and Odile, there were only two other people in the room, a brother seated at a very small, very plain table who was apparently there to take notes of their conversation, and Revered Mother Glynis, who stood to one side of the fireplace, her back stiffly upright and a neutral expression on her face. She glanced at him just once, as he moved to sit, then returned her gaze to Odile.

"Prince Vael," the Grand Cleric began. "I am pleased that we finally have an opportunity to talk properly. I have heard many disturbing rumours about events in the Free Marches, from even before the time of my predecessor's death in Kirkwall. I am interested in hearing what you can tell me of some of the persons involved; I understand you were much involved in events there."

"Aye, I was," Sebastian answered calmly. "I became acquaintances with Hawke – the Champion of Kirkwall – shortly after the death of my family, when I sought revenge on the mercenary company that had killed them all. He took on the job, and annihilated the Flint Company entirely. After that I became... not friends with him, not quite, but I felt I owed him greatly for his help, which far exceeded what I had hoped to accomplish; I had not believed it would be possible to do more than perhaps eliminate some of the leaders who had accepted the job and orchestrated their deaths."

He frowned, thinking back all those years ago, to his shock at learning just how ruthlessly Hawke had carried out Sebastian's wished-for revenge. "I could barely begin to pay him back for what he had done, being but a poor brother in the chantry for so many years beforehand, and so I offered him my services as an archer in partial restitution. I was undergoing a crisis of faith as a result of the events here in Starkhaven, and Grand Cleric Elthina had released me from the majority of my vows, so I was free to do so. This was apparently acceptable to him, and he was pleased to count me among his companions on a number of his adventures over the next half-dozen years. This brought me into the orbit of a number of the key figures in events in Kirkwall; Hawke himself, Knight-Commander Meredith, First Enchanter Orsino, Viscount Dumar, the Arishok, and others."

"And these others included the apostate mage who is reported to have been behind the eventual destruction of the Kirkwall chantry?" Odile asked sharply.

Sebastian looked calmly at her. "Yes. Anders, an apostate mage and Grey Warden, who ran a clinic in Darktown, healing any who had need of his services. He was also a regular companion on many of Hawke's adventures."

"And yet you, a brother in the chantry, saw no reason to report his presence to the templars?" Odile asked, both her eyebrows rising high.

"No. Knight-Commander Meredith, Knight-Captain Cullen, and Grand Cleric Elthina all knew of his existence; none had made any move to capture or suppress him. I did not see any reason to question their reasons. I was sure there must be _some_ reason for Anders' continued freedom, especially when it was known that on one notable occasion he had harangued Meredith herself within her own office about the treatment of mages. And still walked free afterwards."

Odile made a sound, somewhere between a hum and a grunt, and frowned in thought. "And now this mage lives in your castle, and still walks freely."

"No," Sebastian contradicted her. "He does not walk freely. He is a prisoner here; he is guarded at all times, watched to ensure that he does not ever again take part in such actions as he did in Kirkwall."

"Yet not punished for his role in events in Kirkwall," Odile said sharply.

"He was not acting of his own free will there; he was under the influence of a spirit of the Fade – possibly a demon. It seems to have left him afterwards, claiming remorse. He is now appalled and grieved by the actions he undertook while under its sway. Is it not punishment enough that he will never be a free man again, that every moment of his life he lives with the knowledge of what evil he was left to do?" he asked.

Odile shook her head. "He is a mage. The determination of his just punishment does not lie with you; it lies with the chantry."

"Not so. He is a Grey Warden; that supersedes even the chantry's authority over him. His commander is aware that he is here, and of his crimes. She has judged him guilty of murder, and asked me to hold him prisoner on her behalf until such occasion as she has the time to reclaim him, to pass judgement on him and see him suitably punished. I have sworn an oath to see him kept safe until such time as she herself returns to claim him."

"His commander... Soria Tabris, the so-called Hero of Ferelden?" Odile asked sharply. "But she has disappeared!"

"Aye, but she passed here on the way to wherever it is she is travelling; west is all I know. I have a document, signed and witnessed, with her request for me to hold Anders under her authority. Her companion Zevran has been guesting with me since that time," he added, not claiming, but at least somewhat suggesting, that Zevran was there to see that Anders was not disposed of.

"I see," said Odile, her lips pressing into a thin line; doubtless displeased at finding that any attempt she might have wanted to make to seize Anders under the chantry's authority had been neatly bypassed by the superior claim of the Grey Wardens to his punishment. She frowned in thought for a while, then made a dismissive gesture and looked at Sebastian again.

"We will have to return to the subject of the apostate another time, perhaps. In the greater scheme of things it is but a minor matter. Though I will have to insist on seeing this document, of course."

"Of course," Sebastian said dryly.

Odile rose to her feet, stepping daintily down off of the footstool to the floor, and began to pace back and forth near the fireplace, a serious look on her face, her long braid swinging out behind her on the turns. Sebastian watched her curiously, wondering what had her so agitated. Finally she stopped and turned to look at him, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Prince Vael. I feel it is time for us to discuss your... _unique_ position, in regards to your position both within the chantry and as a secular power," she said firmly.

Sebastian nodded. "You refer to my remaining vows," he said.

"Yes. I don't know if you were aware of it or not, but the Divine has been considering the relationship between religious authority and secular power for some time. Have you ever heard of the Doctrine of Temporal Rapprochement?" she suddenly asked, giving him a keen look.

"The what? No, I can't say as I have..." he said hesitantly.

"I did not think you had, considering your... recent laxness concerning mages here in Starkhaven," she said, then returned to her chair, stepping up to the raised seat as lightly as a small girl, curling her legs under her in a way that made her seem considerably younger than her apparent age. She leaned toward him, an earnest expression on her face. "It is known that it is the terrible sins of the Magisters, their overweening pride that had them enter the Fade as living beings, that blackened the Golden City and made the Maker first turn his back to us, his mortal children. Andraste later regained his attention, but he again turned his face from us when she was most foully killed – again because of the curséd mages. It is commonly held belief that only when the Chant is heard from all of the nations of Thedas that the Maker will forgive us and again turn back to us, yes?"

Sebastian nodded cautiously. "This is chantry doctrine, yes," he agreed.

"For a thousand years the chantry has been working on spreading the Chant of Light, to bring about that glorious day. In the early years, after Andraste's death, the Chant spread quickly throughout much of the land, lighting a bright faith in the hearts of men. Great strides were made in spreading the Chant! Many believed that the bright day when the Golden City would be cleansed by the chant, and the Maker return his regard to us, would occur within the lifetime of men. But then the spread slowed, and finally stopped; the foolish elves, the Dalish, insisted on retaining their outmoded beliefs, fleeing into the wilderness rather than joining in the chant as was proper. The dwarves have never allowed the chant to spread within their cities, preferring to cling obstinately to their belief in the 'Stone' that surrounds them, ignoring the renewed glory that faith in Andraste could bring to their dark kingdom. Tevinter clings to a heresy, their perverted mockery of the true Andrastean faith. Their male-dominated chantry and Black Divine! Black as their hearts, black as the sin of their forefathers that despoiled the Golden City!"

Sebastian remained quiet, watching Odile warily. She spoke with the passion of a great believer – or a committed fanatic. He had never been entirely sure where the line between the two properly fell.

She frowned unhappily, nostrils flaring as she took a few deep breaths. "And now, even worse, these terrible giants, the qunari, have appeared out of the east, bringing yet another foul religion with them, this _qun_ of theirs. Lands where the chant was previously heard have fallen silent; men and elves both have been turned away from the chantry entirely, by force in some places, by choice in others, to become followers of this dark religion. We move further away from the glory of the Maker, with every person, man or elf or dwarf or qunari, that denies his preeminence and turns aside from the true path to redemption."

She darted another look at him, sharp and bright. "Do you see? We fail, we falter, we lose our way. The path to rapprochement with the Maker grows longer and harder when previously it seemed clear and obvious before us, the goal within reach. And so the Divine has been seeking a way out of this labyrinth, a way to return us to the clear path, to remove the tangles that trip us up, the false paths that seduce people away from the true faith. And she believes she has seen an answer, in the events in Kirkwall, not just recent events but things that happened long years ago. You spoke of Knight-Commander Meredith, and Viscount Dumar. Viscount Dumar only came to power because Meredith appointed him as Viscount as Kirkwall; he ruled at her sufferance. _She_ was the true power there."

Odile frowned, clearly lost in thought and paying little attention to her audience any longer. "Grand Cleric Elthina questioned the rightness of such an arrangement; she wrote to the Divine, saying she had come to regret naming Meredith as Knight-Commander and seeking to have her deposed and someone less... committed... named in her place. The Divine swiftly realized what an opportunity this change in accepted power structures represented; a chance to see how a place ruled by the chantry instead of by mere secular authority would fare. Elthina was commanded to give Meredith free rein to do as she saw fit. And at first things went well; very well indeed. Kirkwall became a powerful city, a jewel among the cities of the Free Marches. Peaceful, devout, and prosperous. Attendance at the chantry was excellent, mages expeditiously dealt with, trade flourished. It seemed a hopeful sign, that a city could be so well-ruled when the chantry had a more direct involvement in decision making."

Odile looked up at Sebastian, her smile inviting him to share in her elation. He forced a smile for her benefit, though if asked he would have said that his memories of that time were not of as rosy a picture she painted. He would have attributed the prosperity to the growth of the dwarven enclave in Kirkwall during those years, not to any action of the chantry. And the peace had been a false one, that of frightened people who feared the secret actions of templars in the night, not of people who trusted in their safety.

She nodded, pleased by his apparent agreement, and plunged on, a serious frown crossing her face as she moved on to darker times in Kirkwall. "Then the Blight came, bringing with it additional troubles; refugees, a flood of apostates, a near-permanent encampment of Dalish, and a force of qunari. Kirkwall came to reflect Thedas in miniature, all the problems we sought answers to collected in one place, all four races and all systems of belief gathered there in microcosm. And we of the chantry watched, to see what answers we might learn there that could be applied to Thedas as a whole! And we saw many hopeful signs, such as how the qunari were forced into a small enclave, kept separate from the peoples of Kirkwall so that they could not easily spread their foul _qun_ among the true believers, and eventually destroyed entirely. We exulted that the rule of the chantry in the person of Meredith was having such obviously beneficial results."

Sebastian remained quiet; it had been no action on Meredith's part that had led to the Arishok's destruction, he knew, but rather Hawke who had stepped in and killed the qunari leader in single combat while Meredith dithered over what to do, arriving only once the battle was already won. Nor had the qunari been 'destroyed entirely' as Odile would have it; they had retreated voluntarily after the Arishok's death, their strange idea of honour satisfied with his defeat in single combat.

Odile rose to her feet and began pacing again; excitedly now, as if full of too much energy to sit still any longer. "Sadly the experiment in Kirkwall ended with Knight-Commander Meredith's untimely death during the mage rebellion. The current Viscount is a purely secular power and has proven not in the least amenable to accept guidance from the chantry. A deplorable woman who believes in the rule of law over the rule of righteousness," Odile said, pausing in her pacing and making a face as if she had smelled something foul.

Sebastian bit his lip to prevent himself from speaking out at hearing Aveline, a woman he much admired, so maligned.

Odile made a dismissive gesture and resumed pacing. "But it matters little, for we have been given a second chance. Surely it is a sign of the Maker's will that has led to you, Sebastian, a sworn brother in the chantry, becoming Prince of Starkhaven!"

Sebastian could keep silent no longer. "And... this is some part of this Doctrine of Temporal Rapprochement you spoke of?" he asked, fighting to keep his tone of voice neutral, to conceal his distaste at what he guessed of the direction of Odile's thoughts – and apparently of the Divine's thoughts as well.

"Yes! The Divine has come to believe that the path to our redemption in the Maker's eyes lies in the chantry taking on a more direct role in the rule of all of Thedas, taking on _temporal_ power rather than merely spiritual power. The Divine is the Maker's Voice in Thedas; under her guidance we would quickly see the Dalish converted to the Andrastean faith, and the dwarves finally converted from their worship of the Stone to a belief in the Maker's will instead. Working together, we can overthrow the remaining bastions of the Tevinter Imperium, wiping out the last of the foul magisters and their dark rule. Then only the qunari would remain to be dealt with, and once they were eliminated, the chant would rise from all of Thedas, and the Maker would once more turn his face to us, his beloved children," Odile said, her face lit with a joyous expression.

Sebastian, for his part, felt almost nauseated. He risked a glance at Glynis. Her own expression was neutral... but so firmly neutral that he was certain she was concealing great emotion. He had little doubt she felt as horrified as he did by this revelation.

Odile, meanwhile, was beaming at Sebastian. "And you, Prince Vael, will be one of the first rulers to rule openly with both secular and spiritual authority, a guiding light in the new world. A most holy Prince, with the full might of the chantry behind you."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "And I assume the chantry already has plans for what I should do to... carry out this plan of the Divine's?" he asked cautiously.

"Of course! The Free Marches are in turmoil following the mage rebellion in Kirkwall; many of the capitals have fallen to unrest. You will need to secure these lands first of all; assume control of the surrounding city-states, bring them within your sway. Ansburg and Ostwick should be easy to take control of; their capitals are little more than ruins, their rulership in disarray. Tantervale will be easy to take once you control all of the Minanter downstream from them, and once Orlais has conquered Nevarra the entire length of the river would be in our control. Kirkwall will be somewhat harder to take, this new Viscount of theirs is a capable commander by all accounts, but with the forces of the remainder of the Free Marches at your command, and aid from Orlais if needed, it _will_ fall."

"You would have me become a king, then," Sebastian said, quietly.

"Yes! Not just a Prince of Starkhaven, but _King_ over a united Free Marches. Ferelden will have been restored to Orlais by then as well, and we can turn our attentions north, to Antiva and Rivain, and then west again, to stamp out Tevinter. After which only the qunari will remain to be dealt with; either converted or killed, whichever is required to end their threat."

"An ambitious plan," Sebastian said, before abruptly rising to his feet, no longer able to sit and listen to Odile's words. "Forgive me, this is all new to me. I must withdraw and think on what you have told me before I can make any answer to you. I would like to return to the castle and pray for a time."

Odile nodded ferociously. "Of course! It is to be expected that you will require some time to assimilate the idea. I am sure once you have given the matter some thought you will see how inevitable the matter is, and what a glorious part you are destined to play. Send me word once you are ready to proceed; I have been given authority by the Divine to restore you to your full vows, so that you will rule as both Priest and Prince. It is a good thing that you have sufficient heirs already, though I'm sure a dispensation could have been arranged if it was necessary, and some suitably pious bride found for you. But enough of that," she said, making another dismissive gesture with her hand. "It is not at issue. I will retire to my rooms and pray for you while you consider my words," she said, giving him a warm, delighted smile.

"My thanks for your prayers," Sebastian said, bowing to her. "I will send word when I am able to properly respond to your words. Farewell, your Grace. Your Reverence," he added, with a dip of the head to the ever-watchful Glynis, then left, gathering his pair of guards outside the door and forcing himself to maintain a decorous pace and a pleasant expression all the way down out of the chantry and back up the hill to the castle.


	110. Seeking Guidance

Only once he was back in the privacy of his own apartments did Sebastian allow his expression to change, a grim frown to furrow his brow and turn down the corners of his mouth. He stalked into his bedroom, stripping off everything he'd worn to the chantry and changing into a different outfit, the sort of casual clothing he wore when helping Anders out in the garden. He rushed down the stairway to the cottage, disappointed to find the mage not there, though his dogs were. Anders must still be at the clinic, Sebastian realized; his talk with Odile had not lasted nearly as long as he'd thought it had.

He let the dogs out of the cottage, following them out into the garden, and looked around to see what needed doing the most. He selected a clawed tools from the collection near the door of the cottage and set to work ruthlessly rooting out weeds in the vegetable garden beside the cottage, hacking at the soil as if it was an enemy.

He'd done enough furiously energetic work to weed almost half of the bed, and raise a good sweat, when he heard Anders' voice. He looked up to see the mage entering the garden, saying something over his shoulder to the men in the guardhouse. Anders turned, the door closing behind him, and paused in surprise as he saw the dogs out in the garden. Looking around, he caught sight of Sebastian, and waved, then walked toward him, grinning as he gave the prince an appreciative look.

"Well! What's the reason for all this industry?" Anders asked, looking at the partially weeded garden bed. As he drew close, he abruptly stopped, frowning as he gave Sebastian a second, harder look. "Your meeting with the new Grand Cleric did not go well?" he asked worried.

"No. It did not 'go well' at all," Sebastian said fiercely, and dropped the clawed tip of the tool to the ground with an audible thump, narrowly missing a tomato plant. "Oh, it was _civil_ enough," he added with a grimace. "But hardly a conversation I wish to have been party to."

He swung the tool up onto his shoulder, and carefully picked his way out of the garden. Anders watched him approach, a slightly worried look on his own face. "What's wrong?" Anders asked.

"I cannot tell you yet," Sebastian said, and moved closer, hand rising to touch Anders' chin lightly as he leaned in and kissed him. "I am still... assimilating what was spoken of. Will you come with me?" he suddenly asked. "I need to pray, and I would wish your company."

Anders gave him a startled look, then slowly nodded. "All right. Let me change first," he added, gesturing at his clothing, which Sebastian only now realized were stained with blood.

"What happened?" Sebastian asked, frowning in concern at the stains.

"A man was brought in with a gangrenous foot; it was past saving and we had to amputate it to save his life," Anders said, making a sour grimace. "He will live. If he's come in a few days ago, it might have been salvageable, but he disliked the idea of coming to see a known mage for healing."

Sebastian sighed and shook his head. "Poor fool. All right, change your clothes. I suppose I should do the same," he added, looking down at his own sweat-soaked and dirt-stained clothing.

Anders gave him a crooked smile. "I'll be just a couple of minutes," he said.

They headed into the cottage, Sebastian hurrying back up to his own rooms while Anders remained behind to change. He stripped off his filthy clothing, ducked into the washroom long enough to sponge clean and neaten his hair, and then pulled on clean clothes for the third time that day, settling this time on tight-fitting leggings of Starkhaven green, and a loose cream linen tunic with a small spray of wheat ears embroidered in gold to either side of the neck opening. He was just pulling on low indoor shoes in matching green leather when Anders entered the room. The mage had also opted for simple dress; dark brown leggings and shoes, and a plain white shirt.

Sebastian nodded approval as he rose to his own feet. He led the way out to the sitting room, then paused. "Wait one moment," he asked, before ducking into his office, fetching from his desk drawer the much creased and worn letter from Elthina that he had treasured ever since his return to Starkhaven. He walked back out, then led the way out of his suite of rooms, and downstairs to the small private chantry, built by some especially pious ancestor.

It was only a single room, long and narrow, not much wider than his sitting room and perhaps twice as long. The walls were undecorated rough stone, a warm golden sandstone, rising two stories to a lovely ceiling of stellar vaults, gilded bosses at each joint bearing the many-rayed sun symbol of the chantry. The doors into the room and the floor were of well-polished dark wood.

A white marble statue of Andraste stood at the far end of the room, on a small plinth of the same dark wood, framed by two arched stained glass windows, filled with glass that ranged from near-opaque star-speckled black at the top down through shades of darkest purple and indigo and blue, to brighter, lighter colours at the horizon. There was a thin arc of brilliant white glass in the bottom inner corners of each window, like the sun peeking over some distant horizon. He had loved those windows as a child, loved their beauty, and the enigma of whether they portrayed a rising or setting sun; that wall faced south, lighting them brightly for most of the day, and giving no clue as to which it was meant to portray.

He walked forward. There was a low, wide table in front of the plinth, a stepped candle rack holding a scant handful of lit red candles covering much of its surface, unlit candles in various sizes waiting on a shelf underneath the tabletop. A line of plain pillows was arranged a few paces before the table, to protect the knees of any who wished to kneel in prayer. Apart from these simple furnishings, the room was empty.

Sebastian walked forward, and lit a single fat candle, placing in on one of the shelves of the rack. He paused there, looking up at the calm face of Andraste, aware of Anders hesitantly moving forward and lighting a candle as well, then standing there silently gazing up at the statue as well. Sebastian glanced only once at the mage, then knelt on the bare wooden floor, forgoing the cushions, shut his eyes, and prayed.

It was hard to find the calm state he normally reached in prayer; his worries and concerns returned again and again, forcing him out of a properly prayerful mood. Finally he purposefully blanked his mind, focusing on the mechanics of breathing, as he slowing inhaled and exhaled several times. Like calming himself before using a bow. Finally the tension left his body, enough for him to calm his mind, to think only of Andraste and the Maker. Then, and only then, did he turn his mind to this morning's meeting, replaying it in his head, forcing himself to remain calm as he replayed it in his head, putting aside for now his initial reaction to Odile's words.

He strove to dispassionately considered her offer, or rather, the Divine's offer given through her intermediary. Priest and Prince, eventually to become a King, ruling with the blessing and support of the chantry. The Divine must have felt that her offer would be mightily tempting to him. And perhaps there was a time when it would have been, when he was young and stupid. Before he's spent years under Elthina's wise tutelage. Before his family were killed because of someone else's lust for power. Before the habit of thinking for himself, and of others, had become ingrained in him.

He had little doubt about what his grandfather would have had to say about the offer. His grandfather had been proud of the Vaels, proud of their name, and proud of their history. More than once he had repeated to Sebastian the story of how the first Vael, after defeating King Ironfist, had been offered and refused the title of King. That first Vael had felt that no one was worthy of the title, and believed that use of it would encourage the same level of corruption as previous rulers had displayed. And so he'd declared that the title of Prince would be the only title in Starkhaven.

No. No Vael could honourably claim the title of _King_ , and especially not that of King of the Free Marches. Their obstinate freedom, as a loose confederation of independent city-states, was part of their essential nature as a people. Any who sought to forcibly join them into a single state would earn nothing but the hatred of all. The Free Marches would never bow their head to any single man, unless they themselves freely acclaimed him or her as leader.

He pondered what Elthina's reaction to the offer would have been. Elthina, like Odile, had spoken of the Maker shaping his destiny. "It remains only for you to recognize your own strength and the hand of the Maker's will in shaping you for this role," she'd said in her letter, the one now lightly held within his hand. Yet he did not think Elthina would have looked kindly on what was now being offered him, this kingship under the chantry's control. "Be strong, be just, and most of all, be kind and merciful" – she had said that, too, in her letter to him. And "I believe you have grown strong enough to stand on your own now; strong enough to be a stout protector for your people, a kind and just ruler to them."

He did not believe she would have liked this idea of the chantry taking temporal power, making secular rulers little more then puppets for the Divine to move about as she wished. Not after seeing what it had led to in Kirkwall; the tyranny of Meredith and her templars, the decision-making of the city largely paralysed by the Viscount's fear of crossing the woman who had set him on his seat. The increasingly harsh subjugation of the mages. How freely slavers had travelled Kirkwall and environs in search of elves and the unwanted poor to enslave. No. Whatever it was the Divine had believed she was accomplishing in permitting Meredith to run roughshod over secular authority in Kirkwall, what she had truly produced was a great evil, an unjustifiable ugliness.

To accept the Divine's offer would be a great wrongness. It would ignore the history of his family; it would fail Elthina's faith in him; it would fail his people. It would fail himself.

Part of him was glad that he had good reasons to refuse the so-called honour he was being offered. He knew that his desire for Anders, his longing to be released from his vows, might have swayed him, but at the same time he felt certain that if he'd truly felt that the Divine's offer was the right path, that he would have put aside his own wants and desires, and done it. Accepted this offered kingship, this path of conquest.

But he did _not_ believe it was right. Not in any least part. He would have to find a way to refuse the offer. Preferably a way that would not lead to his own death, or cause him to somehow fail those who he was responsible for. His people; his friends; the mages and other refugees who he had taken under his protections. Anders.

Decision made, he sank into true prayer, into a deeply meditative state were even his awareness of his own discomfort from long kneeling, of his steady slow breathing, faded away. Where he floated, in an emptiness like the edge of dreaming, not making the crossing to the Fade as true dreaming would bring, but merely... resting. Being open.

Words from the chant of light eventually drifted through his head. Words from Trials, first of all - "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

And then words from Benedictions: "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written."

And finally, words from Transfigurations: "O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places."

He opened his eyes and rose to his feet again, feeling calm. Feeling uplifted. Yes. He knew what he believed was right. He would cleave to it, come fear or fire, pain or even his own death. He would have faith.

He bowed deeply to Andraste's statue. One, twice, three times. Then spoke aloud, reciting a passage from Trials. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

He turned then, and smiled as he saw Anders sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions, clearly waiting for him to finish. Anders gave him an uncertain look. Sebastian smiled, and held out his hand to help the other man back to his feet, before leading the way back to his rooms in silence, treasuring the feeling of inner peace his prayers had left him with.


	111. Words of Warning

Lunch was on the table, and Zevran and Fenris both there waiting, when Sebastian and Anders reached his apartment. Sebastian nodded to the pair, and moved to take his seat, the other three joining him. They remained silent while serving themselves, Anders waiting patiently, Zevran watching Sebastian curiously, and Fenris frowning slightly as he looked back and forth between all three men.

"Well," Sebastian finally said, frowning down at his plate. "I suppose I should tell you about how the meeting went."

He told it baldly, not speaking of his own reaction to Odile's words, just reciting them back to the others. Anders was soon looking horrified, Zevran's face had gone as stiffly neutral as Glynis' had been, save for a certain grim narrowing of his eyes, while Fenris looked as alert and wary as if he expected attack at any moment.

"You're not going to do this thing, are you," Anders said when he had finished. Not a question; merely him recognizing verbally what he must have already realized from seeing Sebastian's earlier reaction.

"No, I am not," Sebastian agreed, then looked at Zevran. "I can delay no more than a day, perhaps two, before refusing this offer. Once it is refused, Odile may well move against me. Given what she has told me of their plans for Ferelden, she may well move against you as well, _Bann_ Arainai."

Zevran's mouth curved in a very faint, crooked smile. "I may come to regret flaunting my title so openly," he said calmly. "Though it seemed a good idea at the time."

Anders looked questioningly at Zevran. "How is it that you're a Bann, anyway? You certainly weren't when I left Vigil's Keep."

Zevran grinned and sat back in his chair. "It is all the fault of King Alistair, of course. He wanted to send a rather pointed message to both his nobles and the Crows about how deeply he valued my friendship, and how much he trusted my loyalty. He conspired with Soria to see me gifted with a small area of land in Amaranthine that no one else wanted; you remember the place I am sure, Anders, that haunted swamp on the northeastern coast?"

Anders nodded. He would never forget the Blackwater Marsh; not just for how thoroughly nasty an area it had proved to be, but also because that was where Soria had acquired Justice, when she and her entire party – including Anders – had been forced through the Veil and into the Fade. "Not exactly the most salubrious place to live, is it?" he asked.

Zevran grinned. "I wouldn't know. I don't live there. Oh, I visit occasionally, of course, since I am technically responsible for the place. I had the remains of the old village and manor razed, and there is a very small new village there now – not on the same ground, but further uphill, where it is flat and dry – Soria told me you fought some sort of dragon ghost in the spot," he added, looking enquiringly at Anders, then after Anders nodded, continued his explanation.

"There are a half-dozen families living there all told, displaced from other locations during the Blight, mainly. They fish in the bay, and hunt and gather in the swamp, and do a little smuggling in the right seasons, and I of course turn a blind eye to it as long as they keep up my manor – a small but quite pleasant cottage, really, not too far unlike your own – and see me supplied with the occasional bottle of Antivan brandy. I do not spend much time there; too remote a location. But it gives me some small standing in Fereldan society and a tiny income, and what I suppose Alistair most wanted to give me – a homeland, since Antiva is somewhere I can never safely return."

Sebastian nodded slowly, then looked enquiringly at Zevran. "If you send or bring word to the King of Ferelden of what has been said here, he will believe you?"

"Of course. And take steps; having been raised in the chantry, he is well aware that the public face of the chantry and the machinations that occur among the clergy do not necessarily match. More, he has always been wary of the chantry's influence in his country. Especially since the chantry in Ferelden has a deplorable history of siding with Orlais over the Fereldans themselves," he added, scowling.

Anders nodded in agreement. "The Grand Cleric of Ferelden during the Orlesian occupation was infamous for her collaboration with Orlais. She was quite the dedicated apologist as well, coming up with all sorts of justifications for how Orlesian success in invading Ferelden was obviously the Maker's will made manifest, and that the Fereldans should just meekly accept it. I have little doubt that Orlais will look to similar reasoning for why it is their destiny to rule all of Thedas. They have long been an expansionist power."

"Aye," Sebastian agreed, frowning. "Were it not for Nevarra being between us and them, I have little doubt that Orlais would have tried to sweep down the entire valley of the Minanter generations ago. For that matter, Nevarra is sufficiently expansionist to do it themselves, did they not have Orlais to their west and Tevinter to their north; they are smart enough not to add a third front to their warring."

"There are others that you should also speak with," Fenris said thoughtfully.

"Oh?" Sebastian asked curiously.

"Yes. Cullen, and those of his men who are also from Kirkwall – they have turned their back on chantry authority already, when they defied Meredith to protect their charges instead of slaughtering them. If Odile and her ilk believe that Knight-Commander Meredith was a just leader, than they will be in danger from her templars. As might be the others at the circle keep."

Sebastian nodded. He had spoken briefly with both Cullen and Lawrence in the week prior to Odile's arrival, and knew they were worried about what actions the chantry might take with them. Revered Mother Glynis had been sympathetic with their and Sebastian's goals and plans, and had seen to it that the templars had continued to receive such lyrium as they needed. More, many of the templars in both Cullen's and Lawrence's forces had independently begun to wean themselves off the dangerous and addictive substance even before arriving in Starkhaven, wanting to give the chantry one less weapon to wield against them. But there were enough of them that were irredeemably addicted to lyrium that it could still be used as strong leverage on them, if Odile chose to do so.

"We should warn Aveline as well," Anders said.

"And the Pentaghasts, if we can think of a way to send word to them," Sebastian said, frowning.

"Surely someone among the Nevarran refugees wishes to head home again," Anders said. "Find two or three such, and pay their way back west if they will carry a message for you."

"Send them separately, at intervals, and do not let any of them know of the others," Zevran added, frowning. "They might not all be trustworthy, or they may be intercepted, or simply fall victim to the dangers of travel."

Sebastian nodded slowly. "I fear you are right," he agreed. "All right. Let us warn who we can, as discretely as we are able to. I will send word to Odile tomorrow asking for a second meeting with her. And now I must think on how to refuse her offer without precipitating an immediate war," he added, frowning darkly.

"I have letters to write; I will be in my rooms if you need me," Zevran said, rising to his feet. He looked questioningly at Fenris, who nodded and rose to follow him out.

Anders looked at Sebastian after they'd left.

"Let us go work on your garden for a while," Sebastian said, rising to his feet. "I need something to do while I think."

Anders nodded, and while Sebastian quickly changed clothing yet again, back into the rough clothing he'd had on earlier, Anders went ahead down to the cottage to change into suitable clothing for gardening as well.

They worked mostly in silence the rest of the afternoon, both lost in their own thoughts, exchanging only what few words were necessary to the work.


	112. Renunciation

"We're being followed," Zevran pointed out quietly as he and Fenris rode out of the city.

Fenris snorted. "Let them follow us, if they can," he said. "My messages have already been sent."

Zevran grinned. "Mine, too. I worry though that the fools may think they can ambush us, and that this would spoil our ride."

Fenris' only answer to that was another snort, then he looked sideways and down at Zevran's horse. He was riding his ugly mouse-dun gelding today, which Fenris knew from previous rides had a surprising turn of speed. "Shall we let the horses stretch their legs, then?" he asked.

Zevran's grin widened. "Let's," he agreed, before clapping his heels to the gelding's sides and whooping loudly, rising to a crouch over his saddle as his skittish horse took off like an arrow fired from a bow. That brought Ari's head up fast, and Fenris could feel the stallion's muscles bunching in anticipation even before he signalled him to give chase.

Within a few paces Ari was running alongside the gelding, then had passed him. The two horses raced along the lane, easily avoiding the few waggons or people on foot headed into the city, drawing the occasional shouted-out greeting from those who recognized them as the "elf prince" and his servant.

"We should leave the road before the woods," Zevran called to Fenris. "If there is an ambush, it will be there."

Fenris nodded, and a short while later slowed, turned Ari and jumped him over a low gate in the hedgerow that bordered the road, landing neatly in a fallow field beyond. Feo followed without Zevran having to signal him, flowing over the gate as smoothly as the stallion had, well-used to following the larger horse. Fenris rose in his stirrups and looked around for a moment to get his bearings, then set off across the field at a good run, Zevran following close behind.

They had a good long run, sticking mainly to fallow fields and grassy ridges, occasionally following a laneway for some brief time. They stopped at a farm where Fenris was known, and watered the horses and let them rest briefly while Fenris chatted with the farmer. They moved on at a walk from there, up to the top of a steep ridge nearby, where they seated themselves on the grass and shared the contents of the package of baked goods they'd picked up on the way out of the city while the two horses grazed nearby.

"Are we still being followed?" Fenris asked after a while.

"No, we have lost them for now. But doubtless they will be watching the roads near the city for our return."

"Let them, so long as we have privacy now," Fenris said, and rolled over, moving closer to Zevran, leaning over to kiss him hungrily.

Zevran was mildly surprised, and very pleased. He made an approving sound, hands rising to tangle in the other elf's hair. "Here? Now?" he asked when the kiss ended, looking questioningly at Fenris.

"Yes," Fenris growled, hands already moving to unbuckle the belt around Zevran's waist. "Now."

Zevran certainly had no objections to sex outdoors. Though given the possibility, however slight, of it being interrupted by hostile parties, he didn't let Fenris remove or loosen any more of their leathers than was required to allow access to the relevant bits. And there was a certain extra excitement in that, in the knowledge of possible danger, an excitement he was long familiar with.

Fenris was surprisingly aggressive for once, kissing and handling Zevran with a level of assertiveness and passion he only rarely displayed. He soon moved to straddle Zevran, and then sank down onto him, taking the assassin inside him to the hilt in a single steady thrust. Zevran swore in Antivan, aware of Fenris making a hoarse exclamation in Arcanum. Fenris sat frozen for a long moment, hissing through his teeth from discomfort, before he finally began to move. Slowly at first, but he picked up speed quickly, eyes closing, his body and head arching backwards.

Zevran watched him intently, hands steadying his hips. Hard to believe this was the same elf who such a short time ago had been so shy and repressed, so hesitant about any physical expression of affection. And now here he was, riding Zevran hard under the open sky, face and body speaking of nothing but erotic pleasure. Zevran gave himself up to the act, bending his knees slightly and bracing his heels against the ground so he could thrust up to meet Fenris' own downward thrusts, taking Fenris in hand and stroking in time with their motion, both of them crying out in shared pleasure.

Afterwards they lay cuddled together in the grass for a while, before reluctantly parting and cleaning up, and straightening their armour again. Fenris was looking very pleased with himself, and Zevran was feeling very pleased with him as well. He gave him a long, heated kiss before they finally remounted and headed back to the city. They again stuck mainly to open fields and grasslands, only returning to the roads once they drew close to the city, keeping a very close and paranoid eye on their surroundings until they finally rode in through the gates into the castle grounds.

* * *

Sebastian fastened the last buckle of his set of armour, then put on a short capelet of gold-trimmed white velvet over top of it, the ornate capelet giving him a slightly less martial look, and obscuring the longsword fastened about his waist. He was not as skilled with it as he was with a bow or daggers, but it was a less obvious weapon than his bow would have been, and he'd made sure to tuck a few daggers into his armour, though the only one openly visible was the stag-handled boot knife he'd worn on his previous visit to the chantry.

He escort down to the chantry was a sizable one this time, and included both Guard-Captain Cerin and Fenris. He left the Guard-Captain and most of the guards outside; Fenris and an honour guard accompanied him inside.

He did not make his way up to the Revered Mother's office as he had on his previous visit, but instead walked down the nave, beyond the area of pews and box stalls, and the seating for the clergy, to the open area in front of the statue of Andraste. He sent a messenger up to the office, to let the Grand Cleric and Glynis known that he was waiting here. That in itself would send a message to both of them, he knew; that he was unwilling to leave the main hall of the chantry and walk its back passages, to separate himself from his guards, though he had left them standing a discrete distance back, out of easy earshot.

He stood and looked up at the statue of Andraste, praying quietly, until the sound of armoured feet heralded the arrival of the Grand Cleric, a small force of templars entering the nave and moving to line the walls to either side of the entrance before Odile herself entered the room, back stiffly upright and a displeased expression on her face. Glynis walked behind her, as well as a small collection of additional clergy. All but Glynis remained behind, just inside the door, while Odile advanced to where Sebastian waited.

"Your Grace, your Reverence," he said calmly, giving them each an exquisitely polite bow.

"Prince Vael," Odile said, then looked at him, lips a thin hard line. "This is hardly an appropriate place to continue our discussion."

"I can think of few places more appropriate, than under the very eyes of Andraste," Sebastian responded softly, looking briefly toward the towering white marble statue. "I have done much praying since our discussion the day before yesterday, considering what my answer should be."

"And?" Odile asked sharply.

"And I fear I must decline the offer you put forward."

Her eyes narrowed and she inhaled sharply through her nose, head jerking back slightly. "And what of your vow of obedience to the Divine?" she asked. "If _she_ commands you to do this..."

He held up one hand, interrupting her. "I must put my vows as Prince of Starkhaven above my vows as a brother in the chantry; my vows to lead my people wisely and well, to protect _all_ within my domain."

"Your _domai_ n could stretch from the borders of Orlais in the west to the Amaranthine Ocean, and south to the Waking Sea," Odile snapped out. "You could be _King_ of the entire Free Marches!"

"Perhaps. But those are all areas that already have rulers of their own, and I see no good coming of an unjustified war of conquest," Sebastian responded evenly. "No. I am satisfied to rule the lands my forefathers did; to be Prince, not King."

"You would disobey the will of the Divine, the Maker's voice on Thedas?" Odile asked coldly.

Sebastian drew himself up slightly. "The Maker has turned his back on us, his mortal children," he said softly. "This is doctrine. The only voice the Divine speaks with is her own, and she, like all of us, is merely mortal. And fallible. I will not obey her in this."

"So you will be forsworn? An oathbreaker?" she demanded.

"If my only alternative is to follow an order that I know in my heart to be utterly wrong, then yes, I will be foresworn," he said, voice trembling just slightly at the words. He turned away from Odile, looking up at the statue of Andraste again, gazing at her calm face, and drew a single deep breath to calm himself again. "I will have faith that what I am doing is right."

Odile somehow drew herself even more upright then she had stood before, her hands twitching back the skirts of her robe as if to keep them some something foul. When she spoke again, it was in a carrying voice, one that echoed throughout the nave, audible to the waiting templars and guardsmen and waiting clerics. "Do you forsake your vows to the chantry so easily, Prince Vael?"

He turned back to her. He studied her for a moment. Judging by her expression, she expected her words to shame him into obedience. And perhaps there would have been a time when disavowing the promises he'd spoken long years ago, his cold hands clasped between Elthina's warm palms as he knelt before the great statue of Andraste in the Kirkwall chantry, would have given him pause. But no longer; not when the chantry sought to use those vows as a means of controlling him, as a bit and reins might be used to control a horse. But he had passed from the religious life to a secular one; he was not the chantry's to command any longer.

So he straightened, and smiled slightly at the woman, and answered in an equally carrying voice. "No. Not easily. Far from easily. But I do hereby renounce my vows to the chantry, for I find myself no longer able to obey the commands of any within the hierarchy. Not the commands of you, your Grace, nor even of the Divine herself. In all good conscience I can obey only the rule of law, and the vows that I am sworn to uphold as Prince of Starkhaven."

Odile stared at him, then turned, raising her hood. She stalked off to the door she'd entered by, neither looking at nor speaking to him again.

He glanced at Glynis, who'd remained behind. She made the slightest shake of her head, a movement so faint he would have missed it had he not been so close, and looking directly at her. She turned away as well, walking a few paces closer to the statue, then knelt with unexpected grace and begin to pray softly. He could only just barely make out her words as he turned and began to walk away, down the length of the nave to the far doors.

"Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever, but the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world, and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations, she shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction."

He felt a slight lift in his heart. Transfigurations. Which spoke of many things appropriate to this meeting; the Maker's hatred of violence done without provocation to his children. That the Maker would remember the lies of those who gave false witness. Of having faith, in the face of temptation, in times of darkness. In doing what the Maker moved one to do.

He walked the length of the nave, pace slow and steady, Fenris and his guards falling in behind him. At the door he paused once, looking back up the length of the nave, to where a single robed figure still remained, bowed in prayer before the white marble statue. He hoped she would be safe in the troubled times ahead.

He mouthed a single line, also from Transfigurations, shaping the words only, not sounding them. "My Maker, know my heart."

He turned away, and left the chantry.


	113. Waiting

Anders paced back and forth in Sebastian's sitting room, ignoring the quiet purring of Ashes, who was curled up on the seat of one of the armchairs near the unlit fireplace. He was worried about how the prince's meeting with Odile had gone. What her reaction to Sebastian's refusal would be. Anders was pretty sure it would not be good; his main worry was just how bad it would prove to be.

The Grand Cleric was travelling with an awful lot of Templars; enough to cause problems if she tried to detain Sebastian or some equally hostile act. He didn't think she'd be foolish enough to so flagrantly interfere with a monarch, but the chantry's institutional stupidity had never failed to amaze him. Individual members of the chantry might be fine people – witness Revered Mother Glynis, for one, one of the very few people connected to the chantry he'd ever found himself admiring, or the templars at the circle keep – but as an organization it was all-too-often a blind juggernaut in how it carried out its tasks.

Zevran, seated in a chair nearby, was feigning unconcern, but Anders could tell by the tension in the assassin's pose that he, too, was just as worried, though more likely over Fenris than over Sebastian. The elf was betraying in little ways just how tense he himself was; biting on the knuckle of one finger, or jiggling his knee, little nervous habits that Anders had never seen him display before; usually the assassin's response to stress was to become even more motionless and tense. Like a cat readying itself to leap, all taut muscle and hair trigger.

"My friend, if you do not leave off pacing, I fear I will be tempted to do a mischief to you," Zevran said sharply after a while, giving Anders an irritated look.

"Sorry," Anders muttered, and moved to scoop up Ashes and sit down, putting the cat down in his lap. He began petting him to soothe his nerves. They sat in tense silence, waiting, as time dragged slowly by.

There was the sudden sound of multiple sets of footsteps approaching in the hallway outside. They both jumped to their feet, turning to watch the door anxiously. It opened, Sebastian sweeping in with a frown on his face, Fenris a step behind him. Anders sighed silently, feeling a wave of relief at seeing the Prince returned safely.

Zevran took a half-step forward before coming to a stop, exchanging an intense look with Fenris. "It went well?" the assassin asked, glancing at Sebastian before fastening his eyes on Fenris again.

"Well enough," Sebastian said, then sighed and slumped a little. "I am glad that's behind me. Her Grace Odile is definitely unhappy with my response, but she was either unwilling or unprepared to make any immediate move against me. The danger is far from past yet, however."

Zevran nodded. "Very true," he agreed. "Even if she moves on to Tantervale without provoking anything here, I would not consider it safe yet; far from it."

"Nor would I," Fenris interjected, scowling slightly. "I doubt the chantry will easily give up their plan of conquest, merely because you have refused to undertake the part in their plan that you were offered. There are others they might approach; they would not necessarily be as closely tired to the chantry as you yourself were, but all the chantry truly requires is that they be opportunistic."

"Or desperate," Sebastian agreed, frowning. "Ansburg or Ostwick might easily fall prey to their offer, if it will alleviate the desperate straits they currently find themselves in. Or Tantervale... they are not as harried as those downstream of us, but they may see it as a way to prevent unrest from disturbing them any further than it already has."

"Well, we have put the word out to many of those who most need to know about this unpleasant plan of theirs," Zevran said, frowning thoughtfully. "There may be more we can do, but right now I think we mainly must wait to see what move the chantry makes next."

"Aye," Sebastian agreed grimly. "I do not know whether to be wishing for a speedy end to the waiting, or for a very long wait."

"A long wait," Anders said quietly. "The longer they delay before making any move, the more prepared we and others can be."

"True enough," Sebastian agreed with a nod of acknowledgement, then turned to Fenris. "Thank you for accompanying me to the chantry today; I felt much less tense, knowing you and your sword were there to back me up if need be."

Fenris smiled slightly, and bowed to the Prince. "My pleasure," he said, then glanced briefly at Zevran. "Do you need me any further today?" he asked Sebastian.

"No, likely not," Sebastian said. "Neither you nor Zevran."

Fenris nodded, and he and Zevran left together. Sebastian looked blankly after them for a moment, then sighed, his shoulders slumping even further. He turned and walked slowly over to a nearby couch, and dropped heavily down to sit, slouching forward, his every motion speaking of dejection. Anders hesitantly followed him, and sat down next to him. Sebastian seemed almost unaware of his presence, slumped forward with the heels of his hands pressed against his cupped hands, his eyes closed. Anders waited a while, then hesitantly reached out, resting his hand on the Prince's shoulder.

Sebastian raised his head and turned to look at Anders, an unhappy expression on his face. "In all my years in the chantry, in all this year since leaving it, in all the times of late that I have thought how I needed to seek release from my vows... I never imagined it ending this way," he said quietly. "I am... greatly disappointed. And appalled, as I think Elthina would have been."

Anders remained silent; there was little he could think of to say that would not in some way boil down to "I told you so", and that was not something that Sebastian needed to hear. Nor that he felt comfortable saying, not any longer, now that his own views about the chantry and their place in society had become less... extreme. He was willing now to admit that the chantry did good as well as ill, that some parts of it were worth preserving. He did not, however, include people like the Divine, or Grand Cleric Odile, among those parts.

So instead he leaned forward, and put his arms around Sebastian's shoulders, and just hugged him tightly for a moment, offering him what comfort he could, then sat quietly, holding Sebastian's hand cupped between both of his while the Prince stared blindly at the wall, lost in dark thoughts judging by the expression on his face.

"I think I will invite the children to join me for dinner tonight," Sebastian said quietly after a while, drawing his hand free. "Join me? I know Ewan would enjoy seeing you again," he added, looking enquiringly at the mage.

Anders gave Sebastian a fond smile. "I would enjoy seeing him as well," he said. "Should I bring the dogs?"

Sebastian laughed, mouth curving upwards in a slight smile. "Please do! Perhaps Haelioni can teach Tighe some proper manners," he added, then sighed – a sigh of tension released, not unhappiness this time – and straightened up. "Well. I should try and get some work done. Stay if you like, I would appreciate the company."

Anders nodded. "Let me just go down to the cottage and let the dogs out for a while, and find the book I'm currently reading, and I'll be right back up," he agreed.

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "Good," he said, and rose to his feet, hand touching Anders' shoulder lightly. "I'll be in my study," he said, before walking off, shoulders straightened again.


	114. Intentions

Dinner had been good, Sebastian found himself thinking. Having it with the children had been the perfect antidote to the trying day; Ewan's enthusiasm, Niawen's quiet smiles, Pic's growing assurance as the young elf performed his duties as a page to Ewan before taking a seat at the table himself at Ewan's side, the two boys whispering and giggling together during much of the meal with no obvious divide between master and servant. Meridwen's warm smile as she watched over the children, even the looming presence of Dylan, who smilingly refused a seat and merely stood near the door, keeping watch over Ewan, as he was supposed to.

Anders had clearly enjoyed the meal too, smiling and occasionally laughing as he answered the many and sometimes ridiculous questions the children had for him. And they'd all enjoyed the time after the meal, when they'd all sat around in the sitting area, mainly down on the floor with the cat and all three dogs. Haelioni, as Sebastian had predicted, quelled Tighe the few times that the puppy got overly excited while playing.

It had been with regret that Sebastian had finally seen the children and their guardians back to their room. He returned to his room tired from the long day – he had slept poorly the night before – but considerably more relaxed than he'd been.

Anders was still there, curled up in his favourite armchair, Ashes purring in his lap. The dogs were gone; the mage must have taken them back downstairs while Sebastian was away. An opened bottle of wine sat on the table between the chairs, a glass waiting for Sebastian's use. He walked over and poured himself some wine, then sat down and drank, smiling wearily at Anders. Anders smiled back, then sipped his wine.

They sat and drank, neither speaking, until they'd consumed most of the bottle of wine. Finally Sebastian sighed, and put down his glass. "I should go to bed," he said.

Anders nodded, tossed back the last of the wine in his own glass, and rose to his feet as well. They walked to the bedroom together, Anders leading the way. Sebastian smiled, remembering a similar walk after an evening together with wine after a meal last fall. The kiss that a stumble had led to, with both of them drunk, and all the changes in their relationship since. Anders looked back over his shoulder after they'd entered the bedroom, and smiled, likely from the same memory, then stopped and turned.

Sebastian stepped close, and put his arms around the mage with new confidence. He kissed him, just once, gently but chastely. He was free now to do more, he knew, yet he was not _ready_ to do more. When the kiss ended, the smile the mage gave him was not questioning or worried, just... accepting.

"Good night, Sebastian," Anders said warmly, and turned and walked down the stairs to his own room, Ashes still purring in his arms.

* * *

The next two days were tense, waiting to see what, if any, move Grand Cleric Odile would choose to make. Sebastian mainly kept himself busy with work, and spent time with the children each day; helping Ewan to properly train Tighe made a good excuse, especially since it was something that did need doing. Ewan quickly picked up on how to properly handle Tighe to encourage or discourage his activities, and the hound's devotion to his master was obvious in how readily he learned.

Anders joined Sebastian for a while each day as well, not just at lunch, but sitting nearby reading while he worked, or accompanying him to visit the children. Ewan was disappointed that the mage didn't always bring his own dogs, but Anders pointed out that travelling around in the castle with three animals all the time would be cumbersome. And that Tighe would be distracted by the other dogs when he should be paying attention to Ewan. Ewan was placated.

Niawen, Sebastian noticed, was very taken with Ashes, and while everyone else was busy with Tighe or with talking, She was stretched out on her stomach on the couch, gently petting the cat. He smiled, knowing what gift to get for her the next time an opportunity to give her one arose – assuming he could locate a litter of just-weaned kittens at the right time.

Late on the second day they received a messenger from the chantry; a formally polite but otherwise notably icy missive informing them that the Grand Cleric was moving on to Tantervale and would be taking ship the next day. That would not end the danger from her, or from the chantry, Sebastian knew, yet he still felt a great sense of relief on knowing that she would at least be out of the vicinity. Especially since, as Zevran had pointed out, the longer it took her to take action, the longer they and whatever allies they had would have to prepare.

Sebastian went down to the docks the next morning – well-escorted, of course – and saw her off, the two exchanging polite rote phrases and little more. Only once the ships were moving away from the docks, heading upstream, did he finally feel the knot of tension he'd had since learning of the chantry's plans finally releasing a little. Breathing space; that, at least, they had a little of, though for how long was anyone's guess.

He returned to the castle in considerably better mood. The mood did not last long however; Anders was waiting for him in his rooms, and had a message for him; a letter from Revered Mother Glynis, smuggled out of the chantry and sent to Sister Maura, who in turn had passed it on to Anders to bring to him. She was, she intimated, virtually a prisoner of the chantry herself now, the Grand Cleric having left behind a selection of trusted clergy and some of her templars, to "assist" Glynis in these troubled times.

There was little she could do to assist him, as a result, though she had been able to see to it that regular shipments of lyrium would continue to be delivered to the circle keep; sufficient for all the templars there. Sebastian read the message between the lines there; Glynis knew as well as he did that the templars at the keep didn't actually require a full dosage per templar anymore, that only some of them were still fully addicted to the substance; she was keeping the amount sent to them purposefully high so that they could stockpile some in case Odile later cut them off. For whatever good that did. Still, he appreciated that she'd made the effort. It could not have been easy – or even necessarily safe – to convince Odile not to rein in the templars immediately.

The day seemed very long, mainly taken up with further what-if planning; he'd authorized additional recruitment for Starkhaven's small standing army, which among other things would provide gainful employment to more of the refugees. There was also the usual paperwork to work though, much of it related to the city's expansion, and the necessity of expanding the protective wall that enclosed the city to include the new quarter. He hoped they'd still be able to make use of mage talents to speed the construction of that, and penned a long letter to Knight-Commander Lawrence on the subject, requesting whatever mages the circle keep could spare who were capable of undertaking the work.

Anders came in again in the late afternoon, book in hand, and sat down in a comfortable chair in one corner of the room. The two men exchanged smiles, then Sebastian went back to work, almost forgetting Anders' presence in his concentration on the work at hand, yet still feeling comforted every time he looked up and saw the mage still there.

Eventually he sighed and pushed aside the remaining paperwork, and sat back in his chair, studying Anders' profile as the man read. The mage glanced up after a while, and smiled warmly at Sebastian when he found he was being observed.

Sebastian rose to his feet, and walked out from behind the desk, crossing the room to stand by Anders' chair. The mage marked his place in his book with one finger, and looked questioningly up at Sebastian.

"Shall we dine together this evening?" Sebastian asked, voice just the littlest bit husky, reaching out to touch his fingertips to Anders' cheek.

Anders looked at his face searchingly, then slowly smiled, and rose to his feet. "Certainly," he said softly. "My place, or yours?"

"Either is fine with me," Sebastian answered.

"Mine, then," Anders decided. "It's not so formal. If you don't mind just having a simple supper...?"

"Simple is good. A loaf of bread and some good wine would be enough, shared with you."

Anders smiled crookedly. "I'm pretty sure I can manage something a little more filling than that. But that would be a good start," he agreed.

"I should bathe and change first," Sebastian said; he was still wearing the princely outfit he'd worn down to the docks earlier to see Odile off. He wanted nothing about him to remind him of the lady."

Anders nodded. "You do that," he agreed. "I'll go see about our supper."

They parted, Anders off to his cottage, Sebastian to his bathing chamber. The evening might start with nothing but a simple dinner for the two, but neither planned for it to end there.


	115. An End To Waiting

Anders looked around the kitchen, feeling just the littlest bit anxious. He wanted the supper, as small and simple as it was going to be, to be just right. At least he kept a much better-stocked kitchen now that he was having others over for meals occasionally. So he had some wine selected from his well-stocked sideboard, as well as a few different pickles that he or Sebastian liked, smoked sausages ready to cook, bread fresh from the castle kitchens that morning, several kinds of cheese, and a simple salad of fresh spring greens from his own garden, hurriedly picked and washed since returning to the cottage.

He hurried off to the bathing chamber, hoping that Sebastian was taking his time with his own preparations. He stripped out of his clothes, and, there not being enough time for a proper bath, wiped himself down with a soapy cloth and rinsed quickly, standing in the tub as he poured water over himself. A quick dry, and he hurried to his bedroom, already knowing just what clothing he wanted to wear. Simple clothing, and comfortable – leggings in blue-black cloth and a plain white shirt, under a loose sleeveless coat, belted in at the waist and draping to his knees, of dark blue cloth trimmed with a twist of gold cord. He tied back his hair with a matching bit of cord.

He had just finished checking that his nails were clean and neatly trimmed, and was wondering if he had time to go pick a leaf of mint from the garden to sweeten his breath, when he heard the faint scraping sound that heralded the opening of the door hidden in the back of his closet. He turned, and smiled as the closet door opened and Sebastian stepped into the room, looking almost hesitant.

The Prince was dressed in similarly casual clothes; leggings of dark brown cloth, a white shirt with a tracery of white embroidery around the cuffs and neck. His hair was still just the littlest bit damp from his own bath, and curling a little as it dried. Anders could smell a pleasantly citrus odour – he was scented with bergamot, like Anders' favourite tea. They just stood there a moment, looking at each other and smiling approval.

"Well," Sebastian said after a while, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a pleased smile. "Did you find some bread and wine?"

Anders smiled warmly back at him. "And a few other things," he agreed, and led the way to the kitchen.

They shared the making of their simple meal, Sebastian overseeing the cooking of the sausages while Anders sliced bread and cheese. They worked side-by-side, Sebastian keeping watch on the spider pan standing among the coals in the fireplace – a very small fire, the weather already turning to the heat of summer making a larger one undesirable – while Anders stood at the counter nearby. They refrained from touching, but looked frequently at each other, sometimes smiling or blushing a little depending on the direction of their thoughts.

Once everything was ready they sat and ate. They moved their chairs to sit side by side, close enough that elbows sometimes knocked together, the sides of their legs pressed against each other under the table. They talked a little – about the clinic, about the children, the dogs, the garden, skirting away from any subject likely to remind them of the worry and tenseness of the last few days. Sebastian praised the goodness of the fresh salad; Anders made some suggestive comment about how well-cooked the sausages were. Sebastian laughed, then picked up a slice of buttered bread and took a big bite of it.

"Will you stay the night?" Anders asked softly, watching Sebastian's tongue flick out to chase after a wayward smear of butter. The prince's bright blue eyes flickered towards him, and he smiled; a knowing smile, an inviting one.

"Yes," Sebastian said, voice warm and assured.

"Good," Anders said, and leaned enough closer to kiss him. Just a small kiss, tasting the butter on his lips before withdrawing again. Anders picked up his goblet and sipped at the dark red wine within. Sebastian smiled at him, and did the same, then leaned close to steal a kiss in turn.

They kept that up for a little while, stealing kisses or hesitant touches in between bits of food or drink, each kiss tasting differently – of wine, of the oil on the salad, of the vinegary little cucumbers pickled with dill and mustard seeds that Anders favoured, or the salty olives Sebastian liked. The last few kisses were especially sweet, tasting of fresh spring berries and ginger cookies.

They were both relaxed and happy when the meal ended, flushed with pleasure and the anticipation of greater pleasure to come. They fed the last few bites of leftovers to the dogs, and piled the dirty dishes on the kitchen counter, not bothering to clean them now. They exchanged another kiss there, a lengthy one at last, Anders leaning back against the counter's edge while Sebastian pressed up against him, their hands raised to touch each other's face, knot into each other's hair, their groins pressed tightly together. Both of them were short of breath when the kiss ended, their leggings visibly bulged by their erections.

"Let me put the dogs out first," Anders said hoarsely, looking down at where they were still pressed together.

Sebastian swallowed and nodded, and stepped back, giving Anders room to move away, to go and open the door and shoo the dogs out into the garden. Anders turned and started down the short hallway towards his bedroom door, and Sebastian hurried after him, catching up with him in a few long steps, stopping him just short of the door to pull him into a second heated kiss. Anders' hands rose to cup his face; his own fumbled with the belt holding the mage's long coat closed, before he pushed the fabric open and slipped his hands inside, feeling the heat of the mage's body as his hands flattened against his waist, then slid around to his sides, and down, knotting in the fabric of his shirt and tugging to work it loose of his leggings.

Anders' breath caught as Sebastian's hands slid up under the shirt, caressing skin, the mage's hands tightening momentarily in his hair, then dropping to rest on Sebastian's shoulders, trembling slightly. They ended the kiss, and stood like that for a long moment, motionless as they looked searchingly into each other's eyes, bright blue and honey-brown eyes equally blown with desire, unsure at last of how to continue past this moment of mutual need.

Sebastian finally shifted his hands, his left fingertips caressing Anders' side, under his clothes, while he left the right slide out from under the mage's shirt, and down, between his legs, pressing against the firm bulge there, feeling an increased tightness in his own groin as Anders groaned and pressed himself hard against the cupping hand. Sebastian knew what _he_ wanted... the question was, would it be acceptable to Anders?

He moved forward, nuzzling into Anders' hair, pressing kisses against the man's jaw, his neck, the lobe of his ear. He leaned against the mage, trapping him, both of them pressed hard up against each other, Anders backed into the corner of the outer wall by the bedroom door.

Sebastian swallowed, nervously, then spoke softly, the merest whisper of sound right into the mage's ear. "In this cottage, when we are alone together... I am not a Prince. Just a man. And yours to command. Tell me what you want me to do."

Anders shivered at his words, his hands tightening convulsively on Sebastian's shoulders. He pushed gently, moving the prince far enough away that he could look searchingly into his face, reassuring himself that this was truly what Sebastian wanted. The _look_ that came into his eyes as he saw that Sebastian meant his words... so much hunger, such heated desire. Sebastian shivered, seeing it. Anders lifted one hand from Sebastian's shoulder, cupped it against the side of his face, and leaned forward to kiss him hungrily, devouring Sebastian's mouth until the prince was moaning and weak-kneed with desire.

His hand dropped to rest on Sebastian's shoulder, then both pressed firmly. "Down," Anders growled.

Sebastian sank fluidly to one knee, obeying the pressure of those strong hands, the command in that hungry voice. It put him on eye level with the bulge in the mage's breeches, his own hand still lifted up and touching warm flesh under Anders' shirt. He moved his other hand to touch the lacing of Anders' leggings, then he looked up to him for permission. He froze for a moment, caught in the mage's molten gaze, not even breathing, mouth gone dry.

"Yes," Anders said, hoarsely, and Sebastian inhaled softly. He regretted for a moment having to remove his hand from it rested against Anders' side, but he needed both hands to undo the lacing, then slide the leggings down Anders' narrow hips. He hesitated just a moment, taking a slow breath in, before pulling down the mage's smallclothes as well, freeing his straining erection.

It looked much as Sebastian remembered it being when he'd seen it on the night he'd shared Anders' bed, when the mage had so beautifully brought himself off. Upright, curved towards the mage's stomach and twisted just slightly to one side, the base surrounded by a nest of wiry red-gold curls. On that night his vows had prevented him from touching it. Tonight, he had no such impediment, just his own nervous hesitation to overcome.

He lifted his right hand, and touched his fingertips to the velvety soft foreskin, applying just the slightest pressure before he stroked them down toward the base of Anders' penis, biting his lower lip as the skin glided smoothly back, the swollen tip of the mage's penis emerging from its sheath. It was flushed and moist, a drop of moisture oozing out of it as he watched. He wrapped his hand more firmly around Anders' cock, and touched the ball of his thumb to the drop, spreading it out over the tip, drawing a hissing sound of pleasure from the mage.

How many years had it been since he'd last touched another man like this? Over a decade, certainly... A year since he'd returned to Starkhaven. Six years in Kirkwall since the murder of his family. Five years as a dedicated brother in the Kirkwall chantry prior to that. At least a dozen years, then.

He stroked his hand back down to the base of Anders' erection, then leaned forward, taking the tip between his lips, closing his eyes for a moment to concentrate on the taste and scent and feel of it; a slight salty-sweetness from the moisture on the tip. The faint balsam scent of Anders' preferred soap, mixed with the warm musky scent of his skin. He tongued tentatively at the tip, heard Anders' quiet gasp, felt the slight jerk of his hips, the way his hands tightened again where they still rested on Sebastian's shoulders.

He opened his eyes again, looking up the still-clothed length of Anders' body, meeting the man's eyes as he took more of him in, tongue working and cheeks sucking rhythmically as the things he'd used to do when pleasuring another man returned to him. He took him in as far as he could without choking, then drew back, tonguing firmly along the underside of Anders' cock as he did so, their eyes still locked together.

He kept that up for a little while, bracing himself against Anders' hip with one hand while the mage leaned back in the corner of the walls, his other hand stroking the base of Anders' erection as his head bobbed back and forth, hesitantly at first and then with more assurance. Until he felt certain enough of what he was doing to try something he'd once known how to do, and as he pushed his head closer to Anders' body again, forced himself to swallow, the tip of Anders' cock sliding firmly into the back of his throat. For a moment he had to freeze, fighting his gag reflex, then the moment passed, his throat muscles relaxing in just the right way, Anders sliding even further down his throat.

It wrung a cry of surprised pleasure from the mage, his head falling back against the wall, eyes shut, hands lifting to knot into Sebastian's hair. Not tightly enough to prevent Sebastian from backing off when he needed to, to gasp for air before moving forward again, but loosely, caressingly, fingers massaging at his scalp as the mage moaned and shook, fighting to keep himself from thrusting into the prince's open mouth.

On the third time he swallowed him so, Anders' fingers suddenly clenched in his hair, a louder cry escaping the mage as he came hard. His fingers loosened almost immediately, allowing Sebastian to draw back before he choked on the flood of bitter-sweet fluid; more bitter and musky in flavour than he'd expected, with a faint unpleasant aftertaste. He continued sucking until Anders' orgasm ended, then drew back at last, the mage's limp cock slipping free of his lips, glistening with saliva.

Sebastian was short of breath, his own erection still painfully hard where it remained trapped within his own clothes. Anders hauled him to his feet with surprising strength, twisting around so that they changed places, Sebastian now the one backed into the corner. Anders leaned forward and kissed him hungrily, hands tugging at his clothing, pulling his shirt free of his leggings. The mage devoured his mouth, his hands roaming – one sliding across Sebastian's skin under his shirt, fingers tweaking one nipple, the other dropping to firmly palm his trapped erection, pressing hard, driving a whimper of almost pained pleasure from the prince. Then the hand was replace by the pressure of Anders' thigh, the hand sliding around to cup his buttock, fingers pressing hard against his rear.

He cried out again as the thigh pressed upwards, grinding against him for a moment, Anders nipping aggressively at his lips, along the line of his chin, nuzzling into his neck, the stubble on his cheeks rasping against Sebastian's own smooth-shaven skin. He rocked against the thigh for a moment, feeling the soft ridge of Anders' still-rolled-down leggings and smallclothes pressing between his own legs. He was barely aware of the needy sounds he was making, and then suddenly Anders released him, and stepped back.

The look the mage gave Sebastian _burned_ with desire. "Into the bedroom, and out of those clothes. I want to see you. All of you," Anders ordered roughly, his own chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. As he spoke he straightened his own clothes, hauling up his smallclothes and leggings, though he didn't bother to refasten the laces.

Sebastian nodded, and hurried into the room. He was very aware of Anders' eyes on him, watching intently as he undressed. He didn't even attempt to make the act erotic, as driven by lust as he was. In his haste his hands were clumsy, fumbling with his own laces as he hurriedly stripped out of his clothes, his head catching for a moment in the neck of the shirt since he hadn't loosened the laces at the neck enough before attempting to pull it off over his own head. He was flushed with irritated embarrassment by the time he struggled out of his last stocking and stood naked before the other man's gaze.

Anders did not seem to mind the delay or the clumsiness, his glance raking over Sebastian from head to toes and back again, admiring the archer's muscular form, the slightest smile of amusement curving his lips as he watched Sebastian struggle with his clothes. Once the man was finally naked he walked forward. "Stand still," he ordered, reaching out with one hand, fingertips brushing lightly along the skin of Sebastian's stomach as he began to slowly circle him.

Sebastian kept still except for his head, which he craned around as far as it could go to watch as Anders prowled around him, the mage's own gaze fixed avidly on Sebastian's pale skin, fingers rising to skim over Sebastian's left shoulder, hesitating to touch a dark mole just above his shoulder blade before dropping down to caress his buttocks. Sebastian had to twist his head the other way, watching as Anders moved out from behind him, fingers briefly tickling his ribs, then closing around his upper arm and squeezing lightly, before rising to flatten against the plane of his chest, thumb teasing momentarily at his nipple.

Anders paused, raising his gaze from Sebastian's stiffly upright erection again to meet his eyes, the two men just looking at each other for a long moment. Then he pressed Sebastian lightly backward, away from him. "On the bed," he breathed out huskily.

Sebastian backed up, maintaining eye contact. He felt the bed bump against the back of his legs, and carefully lowered himself down, wriggling backwards until he was stretched out on the bed, upper body propped up on bent elbows so he could keep watching Anders, legs slightly spread, feeling himself twitch in reaction to the hungry way Anders was watching him back.

He expected Anders to strip as well, but instead the mage followed him to the bed, nudging Sebastian's feet further apart and then moving to kneel on the bed between his thighs, leaning forward with his hands to either side of Sebastian's shoulders, and lowered himself down onto him before he began to kiss the prince, tenderly. The feeling of Anders' fully-clothed body pressing Sebastian down into the mattress was somehow even more exciting than skin-on-skin would have been, making him feel somehow both vulnerable and protected at the same time, naked before and underneath a still-fully-clothed man, yet sheltered by the warm weight of him, covered by him in several senses of the world. He groaned, then pressed upward with his hips, and won an approving sound from Anders.

He spread his legs a bit further, bending his knees to brace against the soft surface of the bed, and thrust upward again, gasping as his erection, trapped between his and Anders' bodies, slid against the fabric of Anders' clothing. He slid his hands up under Anders' coat, closing his arms around him inside the sheath of fabric, making little pleading noises as Anders showered his face and neck and shoulders with little kisses, sometimes lapping or sucking at the skin as if tasting it. He could feel the roughness of Anders' scarred skin through the thin fabric under his hands, and found himself wondering if the scars were why the mage had remained clothed.

Then all thought fled him for a moment as the mage ground back against him, hands skillfully teasing his nipples as Anders returned to kissing him again, forcefully, tongue invading his mouth. Sebastian moaned, legs closing tightly against Anders as he strained up against him, hips thrusting repeatedly as he sought his own release.

And then the mage rolled abruptly off of him, leaving him aching and wanting, writhing on the bed in his need. He blinked, too confused by the mage's sudden withdrawal to even think of reaching down to bring himself off. He watched in disappointment as Anders rose to his feet, moving a few steps away before turning to face the bed again.

Anders smiled reassuringly at Sebastian, looking almost as flushed and breathless as the prince felt, then slowly began to remove his own clothing, piece by piece. The long sleeveless coat first, taking it off and giving it a slight shake before tossing it to one side, landing neatly over the foot of the bed. He reached up and unlaced his shirt next, taking his time with the laces before pulling it off over his head in a single smooth motion, baring his own lean torso and freckled shoulders to Sebastian's avid gaze. He kicked off his low shoes, then skinned out of his leggings and smallclothes, raising one leg stock-like to peel off the stocking along with the rest, then putting down that foot and lifting the other, leaving the clothing pooled on the floor as he moved back over to the bed.

Sebastian was startled to realize that the other man was already hardening again, felt his own surprise at seeing Anders' reviving erection reflected on his face. "Magic?" he asked.

Anders gave a brief, amused laugh. "No. Not of my making, anyway. A part of what I gain from being a Grey Warden; uncommon appetite, in all things. And the stamina to carry it out," he added, voice going low and husky in a way that made it very clear just what appetite he was speaking of. Anders took himself in hand as he moved back to the bed, gently stroking to bring himself back to full arousal before moving to kneel between Sebastian legs again.

Anders moved to lay down over top of the prince again, their erections rubbing together as they wriggled around and resumed the same position they'd been in before he'd undressed. Sebastian reached up, hands shaking just slightly, and stripped out the bit of cord holding Anders' hair back, smiling as the long strands cascaded down to veil both their faces. Anders smiled back, and leaned down to kiss him, making a grumbling sound of pleasure as Sebastian pressed up against him. This time, when he closed his arms around Anders, he could feel the corrugated flesh of badly scared back, and feel the way Anders' skin twitched beneath the touch, the sudden tension in his back.

He hesitated, worried, and went still himself. "Does it bother you?" he asked, quietly. "My touching them?"

Anders frowned slightly, then shook his head. "No. Well, maybe a little, but just that they're _there_ , and what caused them, not... the touching itself. Go ahead."

Sebastian nodded. He slid one hand down Anders' back, exploring the odd texture, feeling him shiver at the touch. "Do they hurt still?"

"No," a quiet whisper. "Though sometimes they feel odd, or itch, where the damage was worst."

Sebastian nodded, and bent his head to kiss where one scar curved over the top of Anders' shoulder, a thin rough line of raised, pale flesh among tanned skin and freckles. Anders shivered, then relaxed again at last, bending his own head to nestle in the curve of Sebastian's neck for a moment, inhaling deeply. "You smell so good," he whispered, then began to move again.

They rocked together, their hands gently exploring each other's bodies. Sebastian's hands explored the roughness of Anders' back, the silkiness of his hair, the way the muscles in his long thighs and tight buttocks flexed rhythmically under his questing fingers. Anders dug his fingers into Sebastian's hair, kneaded at the firm muscles of Sebastian's shoulders and chest, slid his hands down under Sebastian to pull the two of them more tightly together. Sebastian, as on-the-edge as he'd already been, came first, crying out and shaking as he spasmed, his seed slicking wetly between them as Anders continued pumping against him, coming as well a few thrusts later.

The mage lay limply on top of him for a while, both of them just clinging together while they caught their breaths, hands still lazily exploring each other's bodies. After an astonishingly short time, it seemed, Sebastian felt a renewed pressure against his leg as Anders' cock twitched and slowly began to stiffen again.

"You're sure that's not magic?" he asked suspiciously, glancing downwards, startling a laugh out of Anders.

Anders rolled off of him, tugging the top sheet loose so he could wipe the mess from their stomachs, then smirked at Sebastian, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"There is a jar of salve in the drawer of the bedside table. Get it out, and prepare yourself; I'm going to give you a very _thorough_ lesson in Grey Warden stamina tonight," he growled.

Sebastian shivered, feeling his own cock twitch feebly in response to the tone of Anders' voice, and did as he'd been ordered.


	116. A Sated Lassitude

Anders rearranged Sebastian again, turning him over on his side, lifting his upper leg so Anders could move to straddle his thigh. They were both dripping with sweat, and liberally smeared with other things. They'd used a lot of the oily salve at first, though as stretched and lubricated with saliva, salve and sperm as Sebastian was now, no additional lubrication was needed. Sebastian gave a small moan of pleasure as Anders slid easily back into him, fingers of one hand tightening briefly on the crumpled sheets as Anders began to slowly thrust again.

Anders watched him intently as he rocked slowly back and forth, studying the expressions flitting across his face, observing the exhausted little movements he made that showed that, as tired as he was, he was still finding pleasure in what Anders was doing to him. Anders found himself smiling, remembering how vocally Sebastian had shown his approval earlier in the evening, when they'd both been feeling rather more energetic. Anders shuddered slightly, thinking of all the special memories he was already going to have of this night, from that first moment of awed realization out in the hallway that Sebastian was going to let _him_ make the choices as to what they did this night.

He'd more than half-expected that Sebastian would be like Hawke; someone who preferred to be the one in charge, the one doing the taking. And he'd have been willing to enter that kind of relationship; he didn't _mind_ being submissive in bed, but he did quite enjoy being in the driver's seat as well. And having Sebastian – who he'd _seen_ develop over the last year into a forceful, decisive ruler, putting behind himself forever the indecisive, torn, maybe-prince-maybe-priest the man had been back in Kirkwall – having _that_ man voluntarily submit to Anders desires... Well, the rush of feelings it had given him had yet to entirely ebb away, even now, hours later. The warm desire, the tenderness, the _thankfulness_ he felt that fate had conspired to bring them back into each other's lives like this... it was not a feeling he thought he would ever easily lose.

He ran a hand caressingly down Sebastian's hairy thigh, turning his head to kiss and nuzzle against the other man's knee, closing his eyes and thinking of some of the better moments of the evening just past. The heated gleam of Sebastian's eyes as he hesitantly swallowed Anders that first time, and how incredible it had felt, being taken deep like that by someone who had been chaste for as long as he'd known him. That first slow tight penetration, Sebastian on his hands and knees on the bed, how his pained moans into the pillow had soon given way to cries of pleasure as Anders took him, moving as slowly and gently as he could that first time.

Later, once Sebastian was relaxed enough for more vigorous pursuits, Anders had taken him harder, rutting into him and finding release again and again. Not just in the bed, either; they'd gone back out to the kitchen at one point, taking a brief break for more food and drink, and he'd had Sebastian there as well, bent over the table, thrusting slowly but with enough force that the legs of the table had grated against the floor each time they slapped together. And then back into the bedroom, with Sebastian perched on the edge of the window embrasure with his legs and arms wrapped tightly around Anders while they rocked together. That had been one of the times when Sebastian had came too, crying out and shaking as his seed slimed their bellies, Anders coming deep within him just a few thrusts later.

He didn't know how many times he'd orgasmed now; he hadn't even tried to keep track. Sebastian, being merely human in stamina, had numbered rather less times, but Anders had made sure that he'd taken pleasure of some kind from everything they'd done. Even now, as exhausted as the prince was, his cock was again partially erect, twitching slightly every time that Anders thrust into him. The mage thought he could coax one final orgasm out of the prince; there were tricks he'd learned over the years that should ensure it.

The thought of the several different ways he might accomplish it was enough to bring Anders off again, twitching almost convulsively as his cock gave out another small dribble of seed – Grey Warden stamina could do much for how many times he was able to achieve orgasm, but the human body was still only capable of producing so much ejaculate in any given period of time. He rested a moment before withdrawing, sliding limply out of Sebastian and lifting his leg back over the prince's thigh to kneel on the bed behind him, using the much-stained sheet to wipe them both more-or-less clean again.

He moved to the other side of Sebastian, so he could see the man's face. The prince was still awake, though with his eyes half-closed, face slack in well-sated exhaustion. Anders smiled slightly, and leaned down, brushing Sebastian's sweat-dampened hair back from his face, and kissed him gently. "Still all right?" he asked softly.

Sebastian's lips twitched into a smile, and he managed a slight nod of his head. Anders' own smile widened. He picked up the pitcher and mug sitting on the bedside table – brought back after their earlier foray to the kitchen – and poured a mug of water. He drank off about half of it himself, then lifted Sebastian partially upright and helped him to drink as well.

"One last time," he whispered, nuzzling against the man's neck, "And then we'll rest. All right?"

Sebastian made a noise of agreement – little more than a tired grunt – and Anders put the empty mug aside, then carefully positioned Sebastian again, lying down on his back with cushions lifting up his head and shoulders. He spent a little time in caressing and kissing the prince, giving him a little more recovery time, before moving down between his legs, taking him into his own mouth, sucking and licking at Sebastian and fondling himself until they were both erect again; Sebastian only partially, Anders fully. He sat back, then spread Sebastian's legs wide, before lifting him up, scooting a little closer, and entering him, the prince's legs draped over his own outspread thigh. Sebastian gave a low moan as Anders slid deep into him, his legs tightening against Anders' sides as the mage braced himself and began to pump into him, short hard thrusts, taking him more energetically than he'd done the last few times.

He closed one hand around Sebastian's erection, stroking it in time to his own thrusting, leaning forward over the prince so he could put more of his own weight behind the motion. Sebastian's hands scrabbled weakly at the sheets, then knotted into them, his eyes pressing shut and head tilting back into the cushions, mouth falling open as he gasped and moaned.

Anders tossed his head, flipping his own sweat-soaked hair back from his face as he pounded into Sebastian. He leaned down further, bracing himself with his free hand so that he could kiss Sebastian's chest, his shoulders, the base of his neck, feeling and hearing Sebastian's cries change in timbre as the change in angle altered how firmly he was pushing over that most sensitive area inside of him. That seemed to continue for ages, though it couldn't have really been for more than a few minutes. He straightened up, sitting back on his heels again, then reached down to cup his hand around the base of Sebastian's erection, beneath where his other hand was still firmly stroking it, his fingers curving over top of his shift, thumb in behind the balls, pressing into the soft flesh just ahead of where his own cock was sliding in and out of the prince.

Sebastian groaned at the added sensation, his hips twitching feebly. Anders hissed and bit at his own lower lip, his pace growing erratic as his own orgasm approached. He concentrated, letting just the faintest trickle of power spark between fingers and thumb.

Sebastian's eyes flew open, his back arching sharply enough so that only his head and heels remained in contact with the bed, his weight pressing down on Anders' thighs. The prince made an astonished keening cry, and came, ejaculate spurting erratically out over Anders' hands and his own belly and thighs. The convulsive clenching of his muscles tightening around Anders brought the mage off too, wringing a loud cry from him as well.

Anders collapsed over Sebastian's limp form afterwards, resting his forehead against the sweaty red-brown curls that covered his chest, gasping for breath, feeling Sebastian doing the same. It would have been nice to just go to sleep right then and there, perhaps after moving to a marginally more comfortable position first, but he was certain if he did he'd regret it in the morning, as would Sebastian, when they both woke sore and filthy. So once he felt able to, he rolled off of Sebastian, squirmed off of the bed, and walked on shaky legs to the bathing chamber. Thankfully he'd started the boiler heating earlier, and while the fire beneath it had gone to little more than a lot of ashes and a few remaining coals, the water was still reasonably hot. He started the tub filling, made sure bathing necessities and towels were all at hand, then returned to the bedroom.

Sebastian had started to doze off, but re-awoke when Anders began wiping him down with the sheet, removing as much of the sweaty mess smeared across his skin as he could. He muzzily co-operated as best he could as Anders cleaned both of them off, then hauled the exhausted man to his feet, and helped him down the hallway to the bathing chamber.

Anders helped Sebastian into the tub, before joining him there, slipping into position behind him so that he could keep him supported, the prince's head lolling back against Anders' own shoulder. He washed them both, as thoroughly as he could manage with Sebastian as dazed as he currently was, running a soapy cloth over as much of both of them as he could easily reach. The prince seemed aware enough to understand what was happening, and seemed to be enjoying it, making a contented sound and turning his head, wriggling it a little as he snuggled back against Anders.

Anders laughed as he reached down under the water, doing what he could to clean the more difficult to reach bits of their bodies. "Like this, do you?" he asked, amused. Sebastian nodded, and craned his head far enough back to press a brief kiss to the corner of Anders' jaw. Anders smiled, and paused in what he was doing long enough to kiss Sebastian as well, before he resumed the wash.

Eventually he'd done as much as he could to clean their bodies, including at least a token attempt at washing their hair. Good enough, he decided, and climbed out of the tub, then hauled Sebastian upright and out of it as well, glad for his unnatural strength, since it made manhandling the barely conscious man so much easier than it might otherwise have been. He quickly wiped them both reasonably dry, and wrapped in towels, before guiding Sebastian back to the bedroom. He got the prince seated in the window embrasure, slumped to the side against the wall, then quickly stripped the soiled sheets from the bed, tossing them into the bathroom to deal with later, and re-made it with clean sheets from the chest at the foot of the bed, smelling pleasantly of the fragrant herbs that had been put inside of it to keep them fresh.

He dug out a pair of nightshirts, pulling one on himself before taking the other over to where Sebastian was, and dressing him like a sleepy child before leading him back over to the bed. He shared another mug of water with Sebastian, then they curled up together, warm and clean and smelling of soap, and slept.

* * *

Sebastian woke, and smiled when the first thing he saw on opening his eyes was Anders' sleeping face, his hair mussed and tangled and spread out loose on the pillow beneath his head. Their legs were tangled together beneath the warm covers, and Sebastian was content to remain that way, lying on his side and waiting for the mage to wake as well.

He could tell that he was going to feel sore and stiff when he did move, though to his mild surprise, not anywhere near as badly as he would have expected to feel. He'd once, long years before, taken on all the whores in a brothel on a bet, male and female both – and won the bet, to his father's great displeasure when he'd later heard of the incident. Before last night he'd have called that his most intense and lengthy sexual experience ever, and even now, years later, he recalled all-too-clearly how near-crippled he'd been the next day from overworked muscles and the painful ache of his abused rear.

There was none of that today though, nothing worse than a feeling of vague discomfort. He knew that was certainly due to the use of magic on Anders' part; healing magic, used several times over the course of the night. He could remember how it had hurt when Anders first entered him, even after careful stretching and the use of copious quantities of oily salve, but then Anders had touched fingers gently to him, and there'd been a surge of warmth and healing energy, relaxing too-taunt muscles and dispelling the pain. And after that, very little pain, and that always quickly healed away, as the mage filled him again and again, his hunger seeming near-insatiable.

Sebastian's cheeks heated, as he recalled some of their activities the night before. It had felt good, giving up all choices to Anders, accepting whatever the other man wished to do to him, especially with as widely skilled and imaginative a lover as the mage had proven to be. He felt the vaguest hint of tightness in his groin as the night before replayed in his mind; sign that at some future time he would very much enjoy the memories – and greatly enjoy reprising some of them – but that right now, his body was _far_ too tired to do anything more than register faint approval. He smiled again, shivering in pleasant anticipation.

Anders must have been near waking; the faint motion was enough to make his eyes blink open. He smiled sleepily at Sebastian. "How are you feeling this morning?" the mage asked, voice still thick with sleep.

Sebastian smiled warmly back at him. "Stiff. Sore. But not crippled."

Anders rolled over on his back, laughing loudly, before turning his head to grin fondly at Sebastian. "Not crippled! Good! And we can do something about that remaining soreness and stiffness, if you'd like," he added, untangling his legs from among Sebastian's and sliding out of bed. The mage grimaced. "Though first I'd better go make use of the facilities. And let the animals in for their breakfasts."

Sebastian grunted, becoming aware of how full his own bladder felt. "I should use the facilities too," he agreed.

Anders nodded. "You go first, I'll put on water for tea and let the dogs back in, then take my turn."

Sebastian nodded in agreement, and headed off to the bathing chamber, smiling as he remembered the comforting feeling of Anders cleaning them up after their exercises of the night before. The relaxing warmth of the water, the scent of Anders' balsam soap, the washcloth gliding across his skin, removing all the more noisome elements of their first night tomorrow, leaving nothing but pleasant memories and a sated lassitude.

He had returned to the bed and almost drifted back to sleep again before Anders returned, carry a tray. Breakfast in bed for the two of them – thickly sliced cold ham, buttered bread, cheese, and hot tea. They ate lying side-by-side together in bed, the tray across their laps, exchanging the occasional buttery kiss as they had the night before. The dogs wandered in from the kitchen, having inhaled their own breakfasts, and sat on the floor by the bed, not quite begging but well-aware that ham or bread or a bit of cheese would likely appear in front of them if they waited patiently enough.

"You're teaching them bad habits," Sebastian scolded the mage, the amused smile on his face belying his words.

"I'm allowed to, they're mine after all," Anders told him smilingly. Sebastian snorted, but by the time they'd cleared the tray – Anders consuming the lion's share of it – he too had slipped the hounds a few tidbits.

Anders cleared away the tray, then had Sebastian strip out of the nightshirt and lie down on his stomach. He started massaging Sebastian, using just the slightest trickle of energy to heat the muscles under his hands, working out the lingering soreness the prince was feeling. Sebastian lay quietly under his kneading hands, occasionally groaning or grunting into the pillows as a particularly sore muscle stopped complaining under Anders' expert ministrations. If he was a cat, he'd be purring, he found himself thinking, and then realized he _was_ hearing a purr. He turned his head to find Ashes crouched on the pillow near his head, eye slitted shut, whiskers vibrating with the force of his purr. He gave a small laugh, which won him an offended glare from the cat, and a chuckle followed by a kiss on his upper back from the mage.

"I wish I could just stay here all day," Sebastian said after a while, wishing he could do just that.

"I certainly wouldn't object," Anders replied, the smile on his lips audible in his voice.

Sebastian chuckled, then flipped over, leaning back on his elbows while he smiled warmly at the mage. "Perhaps some day I'll have the time. But right now..." he stopped, and sighed. "Too much to do, and too many things to worry about. I should get back upstairs, and dressed, and to work."

Anders nodded slowly, moving from his kneeling position to a cross-legged one. "I should get dressed too, I suppose – it will be time to head to the clinic soon."

Sebastian nodded, then rose to his feet, leaning down to exchange a lengthy kiss with the mage. "See you at lunch," he said softly, combing his fingers through the mage's still-tangled hair, winning a crooked smile from him.

He pulled on the nightshirt and started out of the room, pausing in the doorway of the closet to turn and look back at Anders. "I'm looking forward to when we try that again, in _my_ bed, and I get to see if I can wear _you_ out," he said, one eyebrow lifting upwards as he smirked at the mage, then he turned and hurried up the stairs, grinning at the sound of Anders' delighted laughter behind him.


	117. Trusted Friends

**Sorry for the bit of delay there - combination of Portal 2, and my brain deciding to take a short vacation from serious writing. At least plenty of pre-plotting for the next few updates happened in the back of my head!**

* * *

Sebastian leaned back in his desk chair, fighting back a yawn. Perhaps it would have been better to write off the morning's work and sleep in, after as late as he'd been up the night before – and as tired out as he'd been before he'd finally slept. Yet there was just so much to do, with all his current worries.

He was relieved to hear the sound of the servants setting the table for lunch; he was in need of a break, it having become more and more difficult to keep his mind on his work as the day progressed. More than once he'd caught himself just sitting still, replaying parts of the night before in his head and smiling. Which was a pleasant way to pass the time but did not contribute to getting his desk cleared. He straightened up, and finished reading the document he'd been reviewing – an estimate of how many days the keep could hold out in the event of a siege, based on supplies currently stored within the walls – authorized the acquisition of additional amounts of grain and cured meats, and then put aside his pen and went out to the sitting room.

Fenris and Zevran arrived just after he'd taken his own seat. He smiled at the two, noting they were wearing matching outfits today; similar dark brown leggings and plain white shirts, Fenris wearing his green Dalish scarf and Zevran wearing a similar one in a darker green, patterned with flowing shapes of gold thread in contrast to the geometric pattern of silver on Fenris' scarf.

"Been down to the market today?" he asked curiously as the two sat, Zevran to his left and Fenris beyond him, nodding at the scarf around Zevran's neck.

"Yes, we rode down to the lower city this morning," Zevran responded cheerfully, and reached up to touch his new scarf. "Fenris insisted on buying this for me. I like it very much," he added, looking slyly at the other elf.

Fenris didn't say anything to that, he just smiled and looked pleased with himself.

They were discussing some of the things that Fenris and Zevran had seen during their ride when Anders walked in. Sebastian looked up, smiling welcomingly at the mage, Anders smiling back at him with equal warmth. He felt a strong desire to reach out and touch the other man as Anders moved to sit beside him, even more so when Anders' hand reached a little toward Sebastian's shoulder, before the mage remembered their audience and looked away, then pulled out his chair and sat down.

It was all Sebastian could do not to jump when he felt a hand close on his right leg, out of sight under the table. He glanced at Anders again, but the mage wasn't even looking his way, busy leaning forward to peer at the serving dishes in the middle of the table instead. After a moment he moved his leg to press against Anders' one under the table. The hand gave a slight squeeze, then Anders released him so that he had both hands free to serve himself. Sebastian had to pat at his mouth with his napkin to hide his amused smirk.

The meal passed quickly, everyone in a surprisingly good mood, given how many things they had to worry about. But they carefully avoided any truly serious subject, sticking to things like how well the new assistant was fitting in at the clinic, when they could next get together for weapon practise, what mischief Ewan and Tighe had most lately been up to, and similarly light subjects.

After the meal Anders and Fenris went off to the library together, so that Anders could help the elf select another book to read, and give him another writing lesson. Their recent exercises in writing to friends abroad about the chantry's plans had made the elf decide he needed to learn how to write proper connected-up script, not just printing. He hadn't liked seeing how childish his own letters had looked next to Zevran's beautiful penmanship when the two had been working on their missives together.

Zevran lingered at the lunch table, sipping at his glass of wine, and gave Sebastian an enigmatic look when he came back after seeing the two to the door. "So... am I right in believing you and Anders have become more than just friends at last?"

Sebastian felt himself blushing, and knew there was no way to deny it – not that he had any intention to. "Yes," he admitted, before looking questioningly at the elf. "What gave it away?"

Zevran grinned widely. "I have been expecting it for some time, most especially since you so dramatically dissolved your remaining vows recently. So things like the way the two of you looked at each other when he entered the room, the little romantic byplay under the table that you were both trying so charmingly hard to hide... it spoke volumes to me, of course."

Sebastian felt his flush deepening, even his ears heating with embarrassment. "I did not realize we were being so transparent," he admitted.

Zevran laughed. "You forget that I am both an assassin, and very experienced in matters of romantic endeavour. I am rather more observant than many, and used to keeping track of where people's hands likely are, especially when said hands are out of sight. And you smell of his soap rather than your own usual scent, which speaks of a reason to have bathed in his cottage. Also the two of you were making only a token effort to conceal your interest in each other over the course of the meal, as you trust both Fenris and myself. I doubt either he or you would have given as much away around a random stranger."

"No, I don't think we would of," Sebastian agreed, and frowned. "I would hope we would not. I am not ashamed to be Anders' lover, but I see no need to broadcast the knowledge either. We have enough difficulties in our path already without inviting more; I would rather protect what privacy and happiness the two of us can find with each other."

Zevran nodded. "Sadly true. So," he asked, smile broadening, "Did you enjoy your introduction to Grey Warden stamina?"

Sebastian gaped at the elf, for a moment too shocked to speak, his cheeks colouring again.

"I will take that as a 'yes, very much indeed,' judging by your reaction. You forget perhaps that I have lived among Grey Wardens for many years now; and had numerous lovers among them. It is a phenomenon that I am, ah, rather _intimately_ familiar with. And the delightful tiredness that follows such a night, and you are certainly rather more tired than normal."

Sebastian found himself forced to smile. The assassin was just so straight-forward there was no way he could take offence over his interest in Anders' and Sebastian's private life. Especially since Zevran was a friend to both of them and had, in some ways, been instrumental to helping bring the two of them together. He had not forgotten that it was Zevran who had told him of Anders' request to be returned to Starkhaven even before Fenris and Sebastian had arrived at the camp in search of him, nor their other conversations since.

"I did enjoy it," he found himself admitting. "Very much so."

Zevran grinned widely. "Good," he said, then abruptly put on a more serious expression. "It can be a very overwhelming experience. And especially in a partnership between Warden and the untainted, it can become the source of misunderstandings, or hurt feelings. The non-Warden partner may feel intimidated by the sexual appetite of their partner, or fear that they are unable to satisfy it, or that they should not ask their partner to rein in their appetite when needed. If there is not proper communication between partners, there can also be physical harm," he explained, then abruptly smiled. "Though knowing what reputation Anders had as a thoughtful lover back in his Vigil Keep days, I doubt that latter will be a problem."

Sebastian smiled again, thinking fondly of the night before. "No, it will not be," he agreed. "He is very considerate. Gentle in all the best ways."

"Well. If you find you do need some advice about how to deal with having a lover with such great stamina, do not hesitate to ask; I have learned many techniques over the years for dealing with such," Zevran offered, grinning charmingly.

Sebastian snorted, but smiled crookedly at the elf. "I may take you up on that offer at some time; I will want to see how innovative I can be on my own first, however. While it has been many years since I was last active, I _was_ rather broadly experienced before I went into the chantry and had to abandon such pursuits."

Zevran's grin widened, but he didn't comment further, nodding instead, then finishing off the last of his wine and rising to his feet, biding the prince a pleasant afternoon before he left.

Sebastian lingered at the table for a while, sipping his own wine, lost in thought and smiling softly, before he finally sighed, put aside his glass, and returned to his study for further work.

* * *

Anders smiled as he changed into his nightshirt, thinking of the night before. It had been a strenuous enough night to have him feeling a little tired all day long; he could only imagine how much more exhausted Sebastian must have been feeling as a result of their nocturnal activities. Yet he could not regret how thoroughly he'd worn out the man, especially given Sebastian's challenging words on departing the next morning. He looked forward to the night when they'd actually try what Sebastian had suggested, though it would not be this night; Sebastian would need at least a few days time to recover properly before they attempted a repeat performance.

Still, he'd received a note in late afternoon from the prince, saying he had to go out to dine at the house of one of his nobles, and planned to turn in as soon as he returned; he'd made it clear he'd be pleased to find Anders in his bed when he did so. Anders certainly had no objections to such a plan, so directly after his own supper he bathed, dried and combed and neatly fastened back his hair, put on a clean nightshirt, and made his way up the stairs, bringing Ashes and a good book with him.

He was curled up in Sebastian's bed with his book, Ashes purring away in his lap, when the prince returned. Sebastian paused in the door, and smiled happily at him. "I'm glad you came," he said, and walked over to claim a kiss from the mage.

Anders put aside his book and smiled warmly back at him. "How was your evening?" he asked.

Sebastian made a face, then turned away to go remove his cloths and change into his own nightshirt. "Long. The Grand Cleric seems to have spread some rumours about my disaffection with the chantry; I had to reassure several of my nobles that it is not the chantry I take exception with, but the expansionism of Orlais, which the chantry is supporting."

"Did you tell them about the Divine's plans for making you King of the Free Marches if you played along with her?"

"No," Sebastian said. "Half of them would have thought it was a fine idea, and the other half would have wanted to turn apostate themselves over the very idea of a King of the Free Marches. And half would no doubt believe whatever self-serving explanation the Grand Cleric would propose for why I might tell such a blatant and obvious lie about the chantry's plans."

"That's three halves," Anders pointed out, as Sebastian joined him under the covers.

Sebastian snorted. "They are not all the same halves, they overlap," he explained humourlessly, then smiled fondly at the other man. "But enough of my nobles, and the chantry. Let us sleep," he said softly.

Anders nodded. The two men spent several minutes wriggling around before finally settling on a position they were both equally comfortable with, Anders spooned back against Sebastian, one of Sebastian's arms pillowing his head while the other draped over his waist. He cuddled Sebastian's arm against him, their hands clasped together. He smiled as he felt the prince nuzzling into his hair, and pressing a kiss against the back of his neck. And smiled more when, a little while later, he felt some extra pressure against his buttocks.

"It would seem you're already recovering," he whispered, rolling back just slightly to make it abundantly clear just what he was talking about, craning his head back towards Sebastian's.

Sebastian snorted, amused. "Aye, and if I wasn't so damnably tired I might even try to do something with that. But tonight I suspect it's best if we just _sleep_ ," he said, and kissed Anders' cheek. "Now hush, mage."

Anders grinned, and rolled back to his former position. "Now you're sounding like Fenris," he pointed out.

"There are worse people to sound like," Sebastian said, then yawned. "Now quiet."

Anders grunted agreement, and the two drifted off to sleep, lulled by the warmth and nearness of each other, and the soft purring of Ashes, curled up at the foot of the bed.


	118. Silent Words Spoken

One day passed. Two. An uneasy peace held, no sign of moves by the chantry or anyone else. Sebastian begin to think the immediate danger was past, though he still worried over what the future might hold, for himself, for his people, his land. For Anders. For all his friends, both here and abroad.

Knight-Commander Cullen arrived from the circle keep, with a group of his men, with word from Lawrence that the renegade templars still intended to hold fast to their defence of their charges, and would not fold in the face of whatever pressures the chantry, in the person of Odile, might yet bring to bear on them. It bothered Sebastian to see such division within the chantry's ranks, and yet he could not help but be gladdened that there were those who saw their duty as protection, not imprisonment; who had turned away from blindly following the orders of a chantry that he was increasingly coming to believe was corrupt, no longer following the true spirit of Andraste's words.

Cullen also came with news that Sebastian was uncertain if he could consider good or bad; the Knight-Commander had received word from Viscount Aveline, asking him to return to Kirkwall and help establish a circle there, now that she had re-established peace in her city. Sebastian was sorry to see the man go, yet it was a job that needed doing, and few better to attempt it, in his opinion, than a man who had seen the state of things under Meredith's rule. He wished Cullen and his men the best of the luck, and offered them anything they needed in the way of resupply before they set off south to cross the mountains and return to Kirkwall.

His nights were pleasant; all of them spent with Anders, in either his own or Anders' bed, sometimes going directly to sleep, sometimes prefaced by sex, depending on their mood. He had recovered enough from their first night now to give serious consideration to his own words about reprising that night in his bed, with him the one in control. Serious enough consideration to have made some plans about what he'd love to do with the mage, to try to pleasure him as thoroughly as Sebastian himself had been.

He wanted it to be as special as that first night together had been; just the two of them, for dinner and drinks and a long night together, on a night where they were both free to sleep in the following day. There was only one day each week when the clinic was not open in the morning; the day reserved for their weekly chantry attendance. They could sleep in that day, he knew, and attend the afternoon service rather than the morning one.

He could not help but smile at the gleam in Anders' eyes when he invited the mage to join him for dinner the night before their next such visit was due; Anders was looking forward to it as much as he himself was.

* * *

Sebastian looked around the room, making sure everything was just perfect; the dinner waiting on the table in its heated serving dishes, red wine breathing in its decanter, their dessert kept chilled in a large bowl of ice on the sideboard. His guards knew he wasn't to be disturbed tonight; at least not for anything short of dire emergency. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, hoping he hadn't forgotten anything, then started as he heard the scuff of shoe against stone from his bedroom; Anders was here.

He turned, smiling welcomingly at the man, winning a pleased smile from Anders in return as he came through the door. They were both dressed casually, in near-identical outfits; brown leggings – dark brown for Sebastian, buff for Anders – and simple shirts of cream-coloured linen, their only decoration their Dalish scarves – soft gold fabric for Anders, white with a subtle pattern of gold for Sebastian.

"Maker, you look good," Sebastian said softly, and stepped over to intercept the other man, the two exchanging a warm kiss.

"You, as well," Anders agreed, then looked curiously at the table, sniffing the air. "Smells wonderful. What are we having?"

Sebastian smiled, and stepped over to the table to begin removing covers. "Roast beef, popovers, new potatoes with butter and chives, minted peas, glazed carrots, and a salad. And a generous amount of gravy, too."

Anders grinned. "Delicious. What are we waiting for?"

"For us to take our seats," Sebastian observed, and the two grinned as they moved to sit down, their chairs positions beforehand by Sebastian so that they were side by side. It drew a smile from Anders, recalling as it did the positioning of their chairs at their smaller, simple meal in Anders' cottage. And, as at that meal, eating was not unmixed with foreplay, with looks and touches and occasional kisses.

The meal was not particularly well-suited to feeding each other – something Sebastian made note to keep in mind for future meals – but their attempts to do so had them both smiling and laughing, dropping peas on the table cloth and getting bits of buttered potato and chives everywhere. Sebastian tried to feed Anders a popover, and the mage had to hurriedly consume most of it in a single overly-full mouthful to prevent the gravy inside it from leaking everywhere. Sebastian caught his gravy-spattered hand afterwards and licked his thumb and palm clean, the two of them exchanging a look while he did so that was equal parts heated and amused.

Eventually even Anders' enormous appetite for food was reasonably sated, and the two men cleaned their hands with warm scented cloths, then retired to the sitting area for drinks and conversation before dessert. That was a pleasant interlude, the two men sitting carefully apart at either end of the couch, smiling frequently at each other as they sipped their wine and talked; of the garden, the dogs, whatever books they'd recently been reading. After a while Sebastian put aside his wine, and rose to his feet, gesturing for Anders to remain where he was, and walked over to the sideboard to fetch their dessert, wiping the bottom of the dish dry with a cloth before carrying it over to the sitting area.

He sat down beside Anders, and put the dish down across his laps, before lifting and setting aside the lid. The tray had several compartments, the largest one in the middle filled with a mound of fresh-picky strawberries, picked and cleaned just before the tray had been carried up from the kitchen. A dish at one end held a fluffy mound of sweetened whipped cream, while at the other end there was a smaller dish containing a quantity of chocolate sauce.

The two men ate the strawberries, turned to face each other on the couch as best they could, their legs interlaced and both of them supporting the tray across their laps. Sometimes they fed themselves, sometimes each other, exchanging sweet kisses as they leaned companionably together. When the strawberries were gone they fed each other the leftover cream and chocolate, offered on fingers which were carefully licked and sucked clean, grinning and smiling and sometimes laughing as they did so, with more kisses to add spice to it all. They were both sticky and smiling foolishly at each other by the end of the dessert, and very, very happy.

"So. Shall we move this to the bedroom now?" Sebastian asked, eyes dancing and voice just the littlest bit husky. Anders nodded agreement, and they rose, carrying the dish back over to the sideboard and stopping to clean the last of the stickiness from their hands before going into Sebastian's room.

* * *

Anders turned and looked at Sebastian. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, voice a low suggestive purr.

Sebastian drew a deep breath, and licked his lips, looking just the least bit uncertain. "One question, first; do you trust me enough to allow me to bind you?"

Anders blinked, almost answered flippantly, then stopped and thought seriously about it. "Yes," he said after a while. "I trust you that much. Is that what you...?"

Sebastian smiled, the crooked smile that brought out his dimple, and reached out to brush the backs of his fingers across Anders' cheek. "Thank you," he said, softly, then let his fingers brush down the side of Anders' neck to hook in his scarf and gently tug it free. "Strip, and lie down on your back on the bed," he ordered, running the soft fabric through his fingers, giving Anders a heated look.

Anders nodded, and undressed, with the same composed grace he always seemed to have. He was already visibly excited by their play, and seeing him so excited Sebastian further in turn. Once Anders was stretched out on the bed, he walked over and sat down on the edge of it, drawing the scarf through his fingers a few more times while studying the man, admiring his slender form, knowing just how amazingly strong that deceptively lean and lanky form truly was.

He leaned down and kissed Anders, a little roughly, feeling a shiver of pleasure go right down his back and tighten his groin as Anders moaned and opened his mouth, inviting Sebastian to plunder it further. After a while he lifted his head, hiding a smile at the look of desire on the mage's face. He smoothed Anders' hair back from his face, then sat upright again. "Cross your hands above your head," he commanded firmly.

He knotted the scarf around Anders' wrists, not tightly, just snugly enough that his hands would not slip free, then looped the free ends around one of the uprights of the headboard and tied it there. He removed his own scarf, and fastened one end to the footboard and the other around one of Anders' ankles. The scarves were long enough that he'd be able to put Anders into a variety of interesting positions without releasing him. He sat down on the bed again, near the foot, and reached out to stroke one hand up Anders' leg, feeling the mage shiver at his touch. Anders was watching him closely, eyes large and dark, his cock fully erect and trembling with his pulse.

"Are you sure you still trust me?" Sebastian asked, voice low and velvety, tightening his hand just below Anders' knee when the mage shivered again at the sound.

Anders swallowed, and licked his lips nervously. "Yes," he rasped out.

"Good," Sebastian said, softly, and let his hand drift higher, fingers curving to brush lightly up the inside of Anders leg, stopping his hand just shy of contacting the mage's balls. He let his hand move down again, a long stroking motion from groin to ankle, then shifted closer to the mage so he could use both hands, one on each leg. He kept up that up for several minutes, slowly working his way up Anders' body, from ankles all the way to his wrists, exploring the texture of his skin, the changing texture of his hair; wispy fine hairs on his legs, thicker wiry curls at his groin, the treasure trail of straighter hairs leading up to his navel. Surprisingly little hair above that, at least on his chest; Anders was so much less hairy than Sebastian himself was. He teased at the shocks of longer stiff hairs in the mage's armpits, then ghosted his fingers along the dusting of red-gold hairs on his forearms. He lifted Anders' head enough to remove his hair tie, and combed out the long strands with his fingers, wondering at how silky the long hairs felt compared to Anders' body hair.

Anders was panting by the time Sebastian had finished his careful exploration. Sebastian slid back down the bed, stopping near Anders' waist, then bent down and kissed him, taking his scrotum in hand at the same time. A deep probing kiss, a careful fondling and rolling of his balls between fingers, and the mage cried out, the sound swallowed by Sebastian's mouth on his, as Anders' body arched off the bed, his seed spurting out onto his stomach.

Sebastian rose to his feet then, picking up a cloth he had waiting nearby, and carefully cleaned off Anders, then resumed his seat, ignoring the discomfort of his own erection. He resumed handling the mage, tracing the muscles of his stomach, his chest, his shoulders and arms, then back down to his stomach again. Anders erection had revived by then. He leaned down and licked at the tip, swirling his tongue around it, drawing back when Anders groaned and tried to thrust upward. He darted a smile up the length of the mage's body, then wrapped his hands around Anders' cock and began a slow rhythmic tugging, bringing him off again in fairly short order.

Again Sebastian cleaned him up, then carefully removed and put aside his own clothes, finally freeing his erection. He _ached_ to take the mage. Instead he sought out the oily salve he had waiting, using some to slick himself, then smeared more over Anders, who thanks to his unnatural stamina was already recovering his erection. He moved to straddle him, keeping most of his weight on his knees, bringing their cocks together and wrapping his hands around both of them at once. Then he began a slow rocking motion, thrusting into the ring of his hands, their erections sliding back and forth against each other. Anders was soon thrusting too, as much as he was able to in his current position. The slide of flesh against flesh felt incredible, and it wasn't very long before Sebastian came, his seed spurting out onto Anders' stomach and his hands. Anders gave a last few thrusts and came as well, shouting hoarsely as he did.

Sebastian's legs felt a little shaky as he crawled off of Anders to retrieve the cloth and clean them again. He brought water afterwards, supporting Anders' head so he could sip at the cup, then taking a few mouthfuls himself. Then he repositioned the mage, turning him over onto his stomach. He drew Anders' hair back and twisted it before tucking the mass of it down over one shoulder, leaving his nape and back bared, his face largely uncovered.

He started exploring Anders' scars, starting with the ones that lapped over the top of his shoulders, laced the flesh of his upper arms. Not with his fingers this time, as he had done before, but with lips and tongue, licking and kissing and sometimes biting at them, silently acknowledging each mark on Anders' flesh. Hating that this had been done to the man. Hating that it had been allowed, _acceptable_ , within a place controlled by the chantry. This, more than any act of the Divine, spoke to him of just how corrupt the chantry had become. That _this_ could be done to any man, and it be considered _right_ , because the man was a mage. Yet they were a part of Anders, part of what had shaped him to be the man be was. And so Sebastian swallowed his hatred for what they represented, and kissed and caressed them because of who they were part of, accepting them, acknowledging them, refusing to avoid them.

He had his hands holding Anders hips as he licked and kissed his way down the last few inches of the man's lower back, and could feel the rhythmic rolling of the mage's hips as Anders pushed himself against the bedding, seeking another release. He slipped one hand under the mage, and once again took him in hand, keeping up his oral exploration of Anders' scars as the man pushed again and again into his hand, and finally cried out, coming hard.

Sebastian didn't bother cleaning him immediately this time; he had plans for the mage right now. He slipped his hand back out from under him and returned it to Anders' hip, massaging with his fingers and thumbs at the mages' hips and thighs as he licked his way further down, along the thin scars criss-crossing Anders' buttocks, biting playfully at the rounded curve of them. Finally he spread them apart and licked between them, repeatedly, circling his tongue in little wriggling movements down and further down until he reached the puckered ring of flesh hidden there. He licked it, several times, first softly and teasingly, and then firmly, drawing whimpering sounds from Anders and a renewed grinding of his hips against the bedding. When he scooped up a little salve and replaceed his tongue with a finger and pressed in, the whimpering quickly changed to pleasured cries. He stayed there, close enough that his warm breath was gusting against Anders' moistened skin, one hand clasped tight on Anders' thigh and one finger buried deep inside him, stroking and probing and _curling_ until Anders came again, crying out hoarsely as he jerked against the bedding, staining it further.

By then Sebastian was finally becoming erect again himself. He spent some time with salve and fingers, preparing the way, and once he was hard enough finally took Anders, a little roughly. Not roughly enough to hurt the mage, just enough that they both felt and enjoyed his obvious excitement. He knew that he'd be unlikely to manage such a vigorous performance more than once, perhaps twice in an evening, having merely human stamina. They both cried out loudly in near-unison, Anders coming just a stroke or two behind Sebastian's own completion.

He turned Anders on his side after that, and cleaned and cuddled him. Both of them were dripping with sweat. He brought more water, then began again, rolling the mage onto his back before starting over. He brought Anders off several more times, in different ways, with mouth and hands and fingers in different combinations, in different places, before his own cock finally began to harden again. His plan, as haphazard as it was, seemed to be working; repeated orgasms in close succession were defeating even Anders' Grey Warden stamina; he was beginning to have the look of sated exhaustion that Sebastian knew must have been on his own face for much of their first night together. He untied Anders' ankle, and coaxed him over onto hands and knees, before taking him again. It was a long slow fucking this time, Anders coming twice before Sebastian finally did as well, shuddering and crying out as he came.

The mage was visibly flagging by then, limp and exhausted, covered in sweat and smears of salve and sperm. Sebastian was in only marginally better condition himself; bringing Anders to orgasm so many times was tiring work, and he was pushing his own limits. But he couldn't help but feel pleased that he'd seemingly succeeded in his goal of tiring out the mage just as much as Anders had exhausted him.

He untied Anders then, and massaged his arms and legs, then cuddled him close, kissing and caressing him. "Bath?" he asked, softly, only then realizing how little they'd spoken since entering the bedroom; almost everything they've said to each other had been said with eyes, with lips, with hands and their cries of passion. They hadn't needed words.

Anders nodded. The two crawled out of bed, both helping and supporting each other, and staggered off to Sebastian's palatial bathing chamber. As they cleaned each other, Sebastian found he had enough energy for one last round after all. They did it right there, in the tub, Anders perched on the edge of the it with his back against the wall, his feet braced against the opposite rim, Sebastian kneeling upright between his wide-spread legs. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and incredibly pleasant, and as he nuzzled into Anders' hair, and kissed and bit at the mage's neck, Sebastian finally found the words that fit what he'd been saying silently all evening. Not just this evening, but for days and weeks and months now.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely in Anders' ear, and felt the mage's arms tighten fiercely around his shoulders, heard him cry out in surprise and pleasure, a moment before Sebastian, too, had his final orgasm of the night.

He remained buried in Anders, the mage's arms wrapped around him, his head resting on Anders' shoulder. Felt Anders shaking, and raised his head to look anxiously at him. There was moisture on the other man's face from more than just sweat or bathwater; tears were running down his face. "Anders?" Sebastian said, hesitantly, worried.

Anders blinked, swallowed. "I love you," he rasped out, then loosened his hold around Sebastian's shoulders, tangling his fingers into Sebastian's hair. "I love you too," he repeated, staring intently into Sebastian's eyes, then kissed him.

There were many kisses after that, tasting of salt but all the sweeter for it. And caresses, as they finished cleaning each other off, then returned to bed, stripping the soiled sheets and curling up together, limbs intertwined and bodies pressed tight, with a new wonder in both their eyes for having finally admitted the full extent of what there was between them.


	119. Making A Point

Anders was sore when he woke, but he didn't care; he was in bed with Sebastian, the two of them still clinging to each other, legs interwoven and arms around each other. It was uncomfortable and he was sore and it was the best possible way to wake up in all of Thedas; in the arms of his love. He smiled, his arms tightening slightly around Sebastian, and felt the prince stir and wake too. He turned his head enough to see Sebastian's face, and felt warm right down to his toes at the look in the other man's eyes.

They kissed deeply, then laughed at the grimaces on each other's faces from the way their mouths tasted – far from as sweet as the night before. Sebastian rolled over and made a long arm and retrieved the mug still sitting on the bedside table. It held just a few mouthfuls of water. They shared it, taking sips in turn, then kissed again.

"Better," Sebastian observed afterwards, and rolled over on his back, pulling Anders along with him so that the mage found himself resting face-down on Sebastian's chest, the other man's legs spread and knees raised to either side on Anders' thighs. The prince raised an eyebrow, smirking just slightly as he lifted his hips and pressed up against Anders, letting the mage feel his excitement.

Anders had, of course, already recovered significantly from the night before; more than enough for his cock to show interest in Sebastian's inviting position. Another long arm to retrieve the salve, some interesting squirming accompanied by grins and the occasional muffled yelp of surprise or brief laugh as they both indulged in some touching and tickling, then he slid slowly into Sebastian.

The prince wrapped his arms and legs around Anders, pulling him close, making a pleased humming sound deep in his throat as Anders began a slow, steady thrusting. Anders wrapped his own arms around Sebastian's torso, the two of them pulling each other as tightly together as they could. The little groans Sebastian gave each time Anders rocked forward into him were intoxicating. He moaned into the prince's chest as he came, feeling Sebastian shuddering and crying out with the force of his own orgasm a moment later. He raised himself enough to see Sebastian's face, the two men smiling happily at each other and then kissing again.

"I love you so much it scares me," Sebastian whispered, tightening his arms around Anders again.

Anders shivered, and buried his face in the crook of Sebastian's neck. "You're only the fourth person to ever tell me that they loved me. There was my mother, Karl, Hawke... and now you."

Sebastian went very still in his arms. Anders raised his head, peering worriedly at his face. Sebastian's eyes were closed, tears leaking from under his lids. "You're..." the prince started to stay, and stopped, then blinked, and turned his head a little to look directly in Anders' eyes. His eyelashes were stuck together in little clumps from his tears. "You're only the second person to ever say it to me," he said hoarsely. "To say it and _mean_ it. There was my grandfather, once. And now there's you."

Sebastian's arms tightened even further, the prince dragging Anders closer, burying his face against his shoulder. "Don't ever leave me," he said, voice muffled.

"I won't. Not by choice. Not ever," Anders replied, stroking Sebastian's head and shoulders reassuringly and the two clung together, taking comfort from each other's presence. Eventually they both relaxed again, and spent a long time just lying there, looking at each other, exchanging kisses and caresses, content to just be there with each other.

Finally Sebastian sighed, and smiled crookedly at Anders. "It will be lunch soon. I suppose we'd best get up and get changed for services."

Anders nodded, and sat up, grimacing and rolling his sore shoulders. "I need a bath again. A nice hot one," he said.

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "Join me in mine?" he offered.

Anders grinned back at him. "I would, but I think it would delay the actual bathing. And all my clean clothes are downstairs," he pointed out ruefully.

Sebastian nodded. "All right," he said. "See you for lunch then," he said.

Anders nodded, and rose to his feet, leaning down to exchange a final kiss with him before pulling on his shirt from the day before, grabbing up the rest of his clothing, and hurrying down the stairs to his cottage. He started the boiler heating then went and let the animals in, having left them out in the garden overnight.

The dogs were excited to be let back into the cottage after spending such a long time outdoors, though Ashes was clearly miffed at his lengthy absence. At least they weren't hungry; the kennel boy who brought their food over each morning had filled their bowls for the dogs, and Ashes had doubtless claimed some of the choicer bits from right under their noses. Ganwyn was intrigued by how Anders smelled, and kept trying to stick his nose into unfortunate locations, until the mage sharply whistled him off and made him go lie down.

He made himself some tea and inhaled a few slices of buttered bream and cold ham while the water heated, then took a good hot soak bath, letting the heat deal with most of his soreness and using just a trickle of healing energy to deal with the worst areas. He dried off, before returning to his bedroom and carefully selecting from among his nicer clothes. His blue-black leggings, a plain white shirt, a light coat of dark blue cloth, its few polished brass buttons stamped with the Starkhaven hart. He put his hair back in a neat ponytail, fastening it with a bit of dark blue cord. He picked up Ashes, who had gotten over his snit by then, and headed back upstairs.

All signs of the night just past had already been cleaned up. Sebastian was sitting in the sitting room, bathed and dressed and with a book in hand, reading, the servants just finishing setting out lunch. He looked up and smiled as Anders entered, and rose to his feet. "Anders," he said, soberly, only the glint in his eye and a slight extra broadness to his smile giving away his joy at seeing the man.

"Sebastian. You're looking especially magnificent today," Anders observed, taking in the prince's outfit; glossy black boots, leggings of black piped up the outer seams with gold, a white silk shirt. A coat was draped waiting over a chair nearby, of creamy-white fabric with gold piping, embroidery and buttons, the Starkhaven hart in goldwork on the left breast, an ornately-handled long sword in a sheath of white leather and gold fittings leaning against one arm of the chair. "What's the occasion?"

Sebastian smiled, a touch grimly. "It is the first time we have attended chantry since Odile left; I plan to call on the Revered Mother after service, and I want to remind the clerics and templars the Grand Cleric left behind of just who they are dealing with if they try to obstruct me."

Anders nodded slowly. "That outfit certainly makes a point of your lineage."

Sebastian must have sent the others some word of his plans; when Zevran and Fenris showed up a few minutes later for lunch, they were both dressed up as well. Fenris was in his most magnificent set of armour – the set that matched Sebastian's – and Zevran was dressed like the minor nobility he was, in almost the exact same rather theatrical outfit he'd worn to the welcoming party for the Grand Cleric, with the addition of a thigh-length cloak the exact same blue as his sash, and with regular boots instead of the thigh-high pair he'd sported for the party.

The children came in a few minutes later, and they and their party were dressed all alike, in Ewan's dark green and browns. Their party, when they set out for the chantry, looked quite impressive, attended as they were by a full squad of castle guards. They only took some of the guards to the royal box with them, the rest remaining standing at the back during the services.

Revered Mother Glynis looked well when she came out to lead the service; well, but tired. She gave the faintest nod of her head as she walked by on her way to the lectern. Anders glanced at Sebastian and saw that he was frowning slightly; not at Glynis, but at the two clerics directly behind her; Odile's leavings.

The service went smoothly, and afterwards, when Sebastian went forward to pray as he usually did, Anders followed and lit a candle as well. He was mildly surprised when they were done to turn and find Zevran and Fenris waiting with unlit candles in hand to offer prayers as well.

"Stay here with them," Sebastian told him, softly, then marched off, a group of his guardsmen following along behind him, the remainder remaining behind with Anders and the elves.

He stood quietly, waiting while the two prayed and then walked back over to join him. "He should not be long," Zevran said, very quietly. "Today he wishes merely to be sure that he is still being allowed access to Glynis, and to see how closely she is being supervised by the Grand Cleric's minions."

Anders nodded, unsurprised that Zevran knew so much of Sebastian's intentions; he knew the prince made use of the assassin's political savvy and consulted him regularly for his opinion. Crows were raised on politics; ones who had a poor nose for it tended to die young. Zevran was almost as adept at politics as he was at using his weapons.

The elf proved correct; it couldn't have been longer than twenty minutes after he left before Sebastian returned, striding into the nave with his guardsmen hurrying along at his heels. He gave a short nod to Anders and the elves, gathering them up by eye, and strode out of the chantry, leading the way briskly back to the castle.

"And?" Zevran asked softly, once they'd reached the privacy of the castle's upper hallway.

Sebastian darted him a look, and gave a little shake of his head, not speaking until they were in the even greater privacy of his suite. "Glynis was not exaggerating when she sent word that she was virtually a prisoner," he told them quietly, face thunderous. "If anything she was downplaying the danger of her current position. I only saw her briefly, attended by one of Odile's cronies. She contrived at one point to push her sleeve back, when the woman was distracted... her arm was black with bruises."

Zevran looked grim. "Shall we offer her a rescue?"

Sebastian sighed. "I fear she will refuse it; where she is, even if dangerous, she is still contriving to do good – the templars are still receiving their lyrium, the chantry is still at least nominally under her control, and Odile cannot replace her while she lives. My fear is what will happen to her if the Grand Cleric or the Divine decides they would be better served by having someone else in Glynis' place," he said unhappily. He paced back and forth for several minutes, thinking. "Make what arrangements you can, find out what you can about her treatment during the hours when she is not on public display. I fear if we do need to move, it will be on short notice."

Zevran nodded. "It will be done," he promised.

Sebastian nodded tiredly. "Thank you, Zevran. I wish I did not have such need of your specialized talents."

Zevran shrugged, and grinned briefly. "It is best to keep my skills in practise. Or they fade. It will likely take me a day or two to cultivate sufficient contacts within the chantry. I will report to you once I have any sure word."

Sebastian nodded, and Zevran and Fenris departed. Once they were alone together, Sebastian took Anders in his arms, just holding on to him for several long moments, his forehead resting on the mage's shoulder. Anders put his own arms around the prince. "What is wrong?" he asked.

Sebastian snorted, then lifted his head. He looked saddened. "Everything. For so many years I had such unshakeable faith; in the Maker, in Andraste, in the good the chantry did. Even after my family was killed, and I began venturing forth with Hawke, I did not at first see how vile some parts of the chantry truly were. Not until repeated encounters with Meredith and others of her ilk began to open my eyes, and even then, I thought her largely an isolated case, an abnormality. Yet since leaving Kirkwall... I have been forced to see the chantry as it really is, from outside its high walls and regimented ways. To realize that many of the things I was blind and deaf to when you spoke to me of them in Kirkwall are painful truth. I am... confused. Have you ever been caught in an earthquake? It is like that, as if the very lands which should be solid, immobile, are shifting beneath my feet, and I no longer know where it is safe to stand."

Anders smiled ruefully at Sebastian. "I half-wish it is not a truth you'd had to learn," he said. "But I cannot regret that you have changed enough that you can now see the imperfections where before you thought the chantry above reproach. It is better to see the world as it really _is_ , rather than as you think it is."

"Voice of experience?" Sebastian asked with a crooked smile.

"Voice of very painful experience," Anders agreed, looking briefly forlorn. "In Kirkwall... I wasn't seeing how things really were, a lot of the time. I was seeing... I don't know what I was seeing. Pictures in my head, that I thought were the way the world was, and the way it _should_ be. Justice had a very simplistic view of many things. Things were either good and fair or they were not. There was no middle ground. There was no compromise."

"We are different people now, both of us, from who we were in Kirkwall," Sebastian said quietly, and reached up to touch Anders' cheek. "I am glad of it," he whispered.

"As am I," Anders agreed softly.


	120. Pretences

Fenris neatly cut another bite from the piece of chicken on his plate, glancing across the table at Anders and Sebastian as he speared it with his fork. He had to hide a smile at the sight of the two; he wondered if they were aware of just how obvious the affection between them was. The meaningful glances, the little smiles, the occasional touches.

It was rather sweet, he thought, and glanced over at Zevran, intercepting a look and a slight smile from the assassin. He smiled back, feeling a warm pleasure at the other elf's presence and regard. His fingers itched to reach out and touch Zevran's arm, but he refrained. The other elf was not so restrained; he felt a hand grip his leg under the table, fingers stroking lightly along his thigh. He shot a sideways glance at Zevran, his ears twitching back just slightly. The assassin smiled pleasantly back at him, but dutifully removed his hand. Fenris had told Zevran before he didn't like being handled in public. Not that Sebastian's rooms were really public, and he knew the two knew of his and Zevran's relationship, just as he was conscious of theirs, but... well, it still didn't make him feel comfortable.

True, they had exchanged the rare touch or kiss before the others before, but he never felt comfortable doing so. There had also been the occasional exciting liaison between himself and Zevran in places that, while private at the time, or at least secluded, were not exactly _private_ either. He felt a slight flush, thinking of how several of their recent rides out into the country had ended, and glanced at Zevran again. Zevran raised an eyebrow just the tiniest bit, then smiled slightly and pressed his leg against Fenris' under the table. Fenris flushed further, and looked away, feeling uncomfortable – only to meet the eyes of an equally embarrassed-looking Anders across the table. Sebastian's hand, he realized, was out of sight, somewhere under the table...

They stared at each other a moment, Anders biting at his lower lip, Fenris struggling to remain expressionless, then Anders and he burst into sudden laughter at the same time. Sebastian's hand made a hasty reappearance on the table, while Zevran's eyebrow rose even further, followed by a broad grin.

"We are all being over self-conscious perhaps," the assassin observed. "We are all good friends here, yes? Surely it should not bother us to show some degree of open affection to our partners before our friends."

Sebastian smiled warmly at Anders. "It certainly does not bother _me_ ," he said, and raised an eyebrow at Anders.

"Nor me," Anders said, moving his hand to rest over Sebastian's on the table between them.

"And we all know I have no shame at all," Zevran pointed out. "Such a waste of energy," he added, and enquiringly looked at Fenris.

Fenris frowned and shifted in his seat, then shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't bother me either," he admitted, before glancing shyly at Zevran. The other elf smiled approvingly, then leaned over to kiss his cheek, bringing a pleased smile to Fenris' face.

The meal was much more relaxed after that. Fenris still felt a little self-conscious, but it was... pleasant... to be touched occasionally by Zevran. When the four of them retired to the sitting area after the meal for conversation, he liked that Zevran sat down right beside him, pressed up against his side, the same way he would in the privacy of their rooms. Suddenly he felt a lot more relaxed and less conscious of the touching; it just felt right, having that familiar warmth there, that contact.

Anders and Sebastian started to move towards separate armchairs at first, then Sebastian stopped and cleared his throat, looking toward Anders. The two exchanged a look, smiled, and sat down together on the other couch. Zevran grinned, but said nothing.

"So... you said earlier that you had some news about Revered Mother Glynis, Zevran?" Sebastian asked, looking concerned.

Zevran nodded. "Yes. I am afraid she is being very closely guarded at all times. Odile's people are in attendance on her at all times; the templars that used to be her regular guards have all been reassigned, replaced with Odile's people. Odile seems to have had many of the clerics and templars who were closest to Glynis taken away with her to Tantervale; no doubt to ensure that few if any people truly sympathetic to the Revered Mother remain here. I have had some luck though; she apparently felt the servants beneath her regard, and only replaced the housekeeper responsible for overseeing Glynis' servants, not the servants themselves. Several of them have noticed enough about her current condition to have become... concerned. Also thankfully, they are all intelligent and discrete people and at least one of them was aware that I am a highly-thought-of guest of yours," he added, bowing his head to the prince for a moment.

"To make a long story short, I now have several contacts within the chantry who will endeavour to keep me informed about any change in either the conditions she is being held in, or in her health. And if a rescue does seem necessary, they are loyal enough to the Revered Mother to assist in any way they can. They have also identified for me a few templars who they feel have similar levels of loyalty to Glynis, though I have yet to make my own determination as to whether it is safe to approach any of them for additional help."

Sebastian nodded, frowning. "Will we be able to pass messages to Glynis this way?"

Zevran pursed his lips as he considered the question. "Yes, but I would recommend against it; if suspicion were to fall on any of the servants, doubtless all would be replaced, and then we would have no word at all about the Revered Mother's condition."

Sebastian looked unhappy, but nodded and acknowledged the point. "Only in an emergency, then. I will make sure I have some reason to see her after chantry services each week. I dislike this situation."

Zevran nodded. "You are not the only one. I believe the chantry is greatly overstepping their bounds. I wish..." he trailed off.

Sebastian shot him a sharp look. "You wish what?" he asked.

Zevran shook his head. "A passing thought. I will need to give the idea more consideration before I speak further of it."

Sebastian frowned again, but didn't press the point; if the assassin had an idea he wasn't ready to speak of yet, he was more than willing to give the man time to consider it properly. They spoke a little while longer – contingency plans for is they did receive word that made them believe Glynis was in immediate danger – and then the elves departed.

Sebastian sat lost in thought for a little while, then sighed, and put his arm around Anders. "Grand Cleric Elthina spoke of me making Starkhaven the calm in the eye of the storm. I fear the storm is about to pass directly over us, rather than circling at a distance."

Anders said nothing, just leaned comfortably against the prince, giving him what comfort he could.

Sebastian smiled at him after a few minutes. "I should work. Will you stay?"

"Of course," Anders agreed, smiling warmly back at the prince.

* * *

Anders woke and stretched, smiling to see Sebastian still deeply asleep in the bed beside him, curled up on one side, with Ashes curled up against his stomach in turn. He leaned down and kissed Sebastian's cheek, winning a sleepy murmur and a pleased smile from him, before he got out of bed and headed off to start the bath water heating and let the pets out.

Sebastian wandered out of the bedroom a few minutes later, his hair sleep-rumpled and a pleased smile on his face. Anders stopped eating buttered bread long enough to exchange a brief kiss with him. "Staying for breakfast?" Anders asked, gesturing with the bread knife at the loaf on the cutting board.

Sebastian grimaced and shook his head. "Can't. Early morning meeting with the guildmasters. I need to go upstairs and start getting ready. See you for lunch?"

"Of course," Anders agreed, and exchanged another buttery kiss with the prince before Sebastian turned away and headed back to the bedroom to head upstairs to his own rooms. He inhaled a few more thick slices of bread, let the dogs and Ashes back in, and went to bathe and change for morning clinic.

It was a pleasant morning, but had the feel of a day that was going to be a scorcher by mid-day. Anders hoped that if it was hot, it was the sort of hot that preceded a good thunderstorm; his garden was beginning to look a little wilted after a full week of warm, sunny weather.

He crossed the garden, the dogs following at his heels, caressing them good-bye at the gate. His guards were waiting for him, the usual pair falling in to accompany him to the clinic, exchanging smiles and nods with him, then hurried across the grounds to the clinic.

Dugall and Sister Maura were standing in the middle of the examination area when he arrived, talking quietly to each other. They nodded a greeting to him. "Anders," Dugall said, taking a step in his direction, a look of concern on his face. "I think you'd better come take a look at our overnight patient – I don't like how his foot is looking today."

Anders nodded. "Of course," he said, easily calling the patient to mind; a farmer who'd been brought in from outside the city yesterday morning. He'd injured his foot – a small cut, not treated properly – and taken a nasty infection in it as a result. It had been in a nasty state when the man had been brought in, his wife having heard from neighbours about the clinic in the city, and hoping the mage-healer could do more for her husband than the local herbalist could. Anders had been able to salvage most of the foot, only the two outside toes and a portion of the flesh around their base requiring amputation.

Dugall led the way down the hall to the room the man was in, Sister Maura trailing behind him, one of the guards moving to keep a watch down the hallway. Bridie was sitting by the man's bed, holding his hand in hers; he was fast asleep, his bandaged foot sticking out from underneath the sheets.

"What's the problem?" Anders asked, walking over to look at the foot.

Bridie turned and looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Anders," she said, and he froze, seeing the small knife held concealed in her other hand; very small, the hilt and blade together only two to three inches in length, but wickedly sharp, and reddened with blood. The farmer's blood, he realized, seeing it oozing out from between her fingers where she held his hand.

He had no chance to react in any way, beyond drawing in a startled breath, before her magic had taken him. Only then did he even remember that she _had_ magic; he'd known it that first day, when he'd first seen her again, and then, somehow... forgotten. She must have used her magic – _blood magic_ – to wall off the memory from his conscious mind.

"Call in your guards. Make some excuse," she told him softly. He moved to the door, leaned out into the corridor. "Martin? Could you and Stewart give Dugall and I a hand? We need to move this patient back to the surgery, and he's heavier than we can manage easily."

"Of course, ser," his guard replied. When they entered the room a minute later, Bridie took them as easily as she'd taken Anders, using the farmer's blood to fuel her magic. He could see tiny beads of sweat dotting her brow; holding all five of them was clearly difficult work for her, a guess confirmed when she had Sister Maura fetch a soporific from the dispensary, and use it to knock one of the guards out. Stewart and Dugall carried the guard back to the examination room, setting him up on a chair near the entrance to the hallway, making it look like he was merely dozing on duty, while Stewart resumed his post at the door.

Dugall remained in the examination area, to turn away anyone who came to the clinic, with word that Anders was too busy to see anyone else, while Anders and the two women climbed up the stairs to the employee's dormitory in the loft. There Bridie had Sister Maura and Anders both strip to their smalls. She let Maura dress herself in Anders' abandoned clothes while she washed the blood from her hands and then disappeared into her own room for a moment, to reemerge with a bag she dumped out on the table. A corset, a couple of vaguely semi-spherical bags stuffed full of something light... Anders flushed, already seeing how Bridie intended to sneak him out of the castle.

She had Sister Maura lace him into the corset, the two of them grimly yanking on the lacings to draw in his waist enough to fit into Maura's robes, the bags tied with a harness of thin cord about his upper body to simulate breasts. Then the two of them dressed him in the multiple layers of the chantry robes.

"Sit," Bridie commanded him, gesturing to a chair. "Maura, fix his hair," she added. He felt Maura's fingers unpicking the knots of the tie holding his hair back, then a comb running though his locks. Sister Maura quickly drew his hair back and up, twisting it into a twin of her own bun. She was more an ashy-blonde, while he was a reddish-blonde, but seen only from a distance it would pass muster.

Bridie frowned at him, then drew her hands along his skin, down both cheeks, along his chin, and down his neck as well. He felt a prickling sensation, a little warmth, and smelled a scent like burnt feathers; she was using fire magic to burn away his stubble. She nodded in satisfaction when she was done. They finished off by applying a little colour to his lips and cheeks from a kit of makeup.

He doubted he looked very womanly, even with the cinching and the padding and the makeup, but the illusion would likely hold up as long as no one approached too closely. He was going to walk out of here under her control, and then... he had no idea. Only fears.

His disguise finished, she bound and gagged Sister Maura, leaving her lying on one of the narrow beds upstairs. He could see Bridie relax a little as they went back downstairs; she must have released her hold on Sister Maura, so that now she only had Dugall, Stewart and himself to control.

"Dugall, keep up the pretence that Anders is here but occupied for as long as you can. You, guard – Stewart. When it is close to time for the noon meal, carry word to the castle that Anders is busy at the clinic and unable to attend. Then return him. Dugall, once he returns, close and lock the door, then dose him and then yourself with enough of the soporific to keep you asleep until this evening. Do you understand?" she asked.

Dugall had a grim expression on his face, but nodded. He understood, and would carry out her instructions to the letter, no matter how much he fought against the compulsion. "Yes, Bridie," he said. "And may the Maker have mercy on you for this foulness you do, for I have none."

She recoiled slightly, and flushed. "No unnecessary words from any of you," she ordered. "Act and talk in all ways as if what I have told you to pretend is the actual truth."

Dugall's eyes were furious for a moment, as were Stewart's, then they resumed their normal expressions, returned to their places as if it was a normal day at the clinic. Bridie drew a long shaky breath, then look at Anders. "Follow me. Walk as much like a woman as you can."

Anders snorted his opinion of her command, but nevertheless found himself concentrating on giving a feminine roll to his hips as he followed after her, out of the clinic, across the yard, and out through the guarded sally-port in the base of the tower, Bridie exchanging a few cheerful words with the guards overhead as they passed through. As they walked down into the city together, he wondered where she was taking him – and why – and could feel only fear over whatever the answer might be. Nowhere good, he was sure, and for no good purpose.


	121. Smuggling Mages

**Trigger warnings: Confinement, non-con bondage, gag**

* * *

Bridie walked quickly down through the upper city, avoiding the busy main streets as she led Anders down to the middle city. It was harder to avoid people there, and her nervousness increased any time they had to pass too close to anyone. Finally, when they were almost at the dockside slums of the lower city, she turned down a narrow side street – little better than an alley – and rapped on the inset door of a small house halfway along it. The door opened a moment later, and Bridie hurried inside, grabbing Anders by one arm and all but dragging him inside as well, into a small room empty of anything but faded paint, worn floor boards, and a single rickety wooden chair. The door thumped closed, and Bridie turned them around. There was a tall, broad-shouldered man standing beside the closed door, watching both of them warily, a bared longsword in hand. He had grizzled grey hair, a scar across the bridge of his nose, light yellow-brown eyes, and a wolfish grin on his face that Anders didn't like the look of at all.

"Good girl, Bridie," the man said in a low, menacing voice, then gestured at a door to one side with his sword. "Into the other room, both of you."

Bridie's hand tightened on Anders' arm, and she nodded jerkily, turning to lead the way. Anders glanced at her apprehensively, feeling her hand trembling on his arm, seeing how wide her eyes were, how stiffly she moved. Whomever this man was, the girl was clearly terrified of him.

The other room was much larger, and at least minimally furnished – a small table, a pair of heavy wooden chairs flanking it, a bit of counter and small fireplace along the back wall by another door. There was a single small window, covered with a piece of sacking. Directly under it was a narrow bed, and a storage chest.

"Sit him down in that chair," the man ordered, pointing to the one faced toward him. Anders walked over and sat; he didn't have any choice about it. The man backed over to the chest, keeping watch on both of them as he leaned down, flipped open the lid, and felt around for a moment. He straightened up again with a coil of rope in one hand, and tossed it to Bridie. "Tie him," he ordered sharply.

Bridie quickly tied Anders to the chair, her hands shaking. Anders hated that he not only didn't resist, but actively helped, moving into the right position so she could tie his feet to the front legs of the chair, folding his hands behind the back of it, unable to do anything to resist what was being done to him except clench his teeth and glare angrily at the man. If only he could use his magic... if only Bridie's control of him would slip. She was obviously not as skilled with the use of blood magic as Johanna Vael had been; her control of him was imperfect, and he was all-too-aware that he _was_ being controlled. Nor had she been able to handle controlling even a handful of people without obvious strain. Her acquisition of blood magic must have been fairly recent – sometime since he'd known her back in Kirkwall, anyway – and her skills in its use low.

"It is done, ser," Bridie said nervously, rising back to her feet after tying the last knot.

"Good," the man said, and stepped forward, keeping his sword pointed at Anders. Anders can't move at all, could only sit there and watch it come closer. He wondered if he was about to die, right then and there, tied into the chair. But... why tie him first if he was going to be slain...

With the sword just inches from his throat, the man twisted his hand a little. It was the flat, not the razor-sharp edge, that came to rest against the side of Anders' neck. He had no warning of what was about to happen other than a faint look of concentration on the man's face, and then, between one breath and the next, his power was gone, drained away.

" _Templar_ ," he hissed.

The man gave a faint nod of acknowledgement. "Once. I am a Seeker now."

Even having never met the man, he knows immediately who this must be. "Seeker Reynard?"

A wide grin, showing teeth. "Yes. And you are Anders, the apostate mage once known as the 'healer of Darktown'. Seven times escapee from Kinloch Hold in Ferelden. A Grey Warden – an abomination – and a murderer."

"I am not an abomination, but otherwise correct," Anders said as calmly as he could manage.

The man snorted, then abruptly stepped back, and looked at Bridie. "You. In the box," he said, and gestured beyond the table, where a large box lay open on the floor, about the size of a coffin.

" _Please_ Seeker, no..." Bridie whimpered. "Not the box..."

The sword moved to point at Bridie. "What did I tell you would happen if you refused any command of mine?" Reynard asked, voice a low, menacing purr.

Bridie paled and swayed, almost falling. "Please, no, I didn't mean..." she babbled. "Please, don't hurt him again..."

"In the box, _now_ ," Seeker Reynard snarled. Bridie said not another word, but fled to the box, face still pale, hurriedly stepping into it and then lying down on her back. The Seeker walked over and knelt down, setting his sword down on the floor in easy reach, and was clearly doing up straps of some kind, fastening her into it somehow before he closed the lid. Only when Reynard rose up from that did he finally sheath his sword. He walked over and dropped down to sit in the other chair, across from Anders, crossing his arms as he looked him over curiously.

"You make an ugly woman," Reynard observed.

Anders snorted. "Not my usual choice of attire," he said lightly. "I look quite handsome in a suit, I'm told."

Reynard curled his lip. "I hear you play the woman for that prince. Or perhaps he plays the woman for you? Or do you take turns buggering each other?"

Anders glared at him, but declined to make any response to the Seeker's obvious baiting. They sat that way for several long minutes, the Seeker studying Anders with evident contempt, Anders glaring back at him. He should have been terrified, he knew, but what he was mainly feeling at the moment was anger.

There was the sound of knocking at the door. Reynard quickly rose and stepped into the other room, one hand resting on his sword hilt. "Yes?" he called through the door.

"It's me," a voice replied. Reynard quickly opened the door, letting in two men carrying a box like the one Bridie was in. They both had the sort of muscular build that spoke of either heavy labour, or regular arms training. Templars, Anders guessed.

He paled at the sight of the box, realizing he was meant to go into it, then cursed and jerked, almost knocking the chair over sideways. The Seeker turned and frowned at the noise, then in a few long steps was back at Anders' side, one hand lashing out to connect with Anders' cheek with bruising force. "Stop that," the man snarled, then turned to look at the other two men. "Put it there," he said, gesturing to the floor by Anders' chair, then turned back to Anders. There was a soundless blast of force, and Anders blacked out.

* * *

His head ached when he re-awoke in darkness, and his jaw. Being hit with a particularly nasty smite explained the headache, and trying to move his jaw made it clear why his jaw hurt; he was gagged, not with simple soft cloth, but with something hard, forcing his jaw uncomfortably wide. He tried to move, and found his couldn't; he was strapped into the box, around wrists and ankles, waist and upper chest, even a head-strap crossing his forehead. He panicked and struggled for a moment, accomplishing nothing but to almost send himself unconscious again; between the overly tight girdle and the gag, he could only breathe shallowly. He forced himself to lie still and breath as evenly as he could until the lightheadness and floating spots went away.

Lying there, he became away of sounds and movement – the clopping of horse hooves, the rhythmic squeaking of cart wheels, jolting and bumping motions. At a guess the box he was in was now in the back of a cart, being carried away somewhere. He wondered if they were still in the city, and listened. He could hear voices from somewhere nearby, but not clearly enough to make out what was being said, or even how many people were talking. He listened to the horse's hooves, and after a while decided that they didn't sound like they were on cobblestone, but on dirt. Outside the city then.

He felt a surge of despair. Did Sebastian and the others even know he was missing yet? And even if they did, what chance did they have of tracking him, of finding where he'd been taken. He was certain Sebastian would do anything in his power to find him, to rescue him – but he also felt sickeningly certain that this Seeker Reynard would see him dead first, if a rescue looked at all likely. And with his power gone, he hadn't a chance to defend himself, or to escape.

No. That wasn't entirely right, he corrected himself. He might still find himself with a chance at escape at some point, he just would have to hope it wasn't one that relied on him having magical power at hand. There was a chance the Seeker and his men might underestimate what kind of strength and speed he had due to his being a Grey Warden, especially since he was not exactly the most physically imposing specimen of manhood. He would wait, he would watch, and he would hope. And if a chance came, no matter how slim, he would _act_.

For now, there was nothing he could do, not while strapped into this damnable box and stripped of all power. He did the only thing he could do in the current situation, and did his best to rest, eventually dropping into an uneasy half-sleep, the only good thing about it being that his sleep was shallow enough that he didn't dream. He doubted his dreams would currently be at all restful.

* * *

Sebastian paled. "How long has he been gone?" he asked, voice heavy with dread.

"Hours," Guard-Captain Cerin replied grimly. "We still might not know, except Sister Maura managed to wiggle downstairs and out to where one of the tower guards spotted her. She's all over bruises from getting down the stairs from that loft; lucky to have not broken her neck, sliding down them the way she must have. Brave woman. She says it'll likely be several hours yet until the others wake and can be questioned – they were all dosed with a strong soporific."

Sebastian nodded distractedly. "A blood mage..." he said, and shook his head, biting back a curse. "Is there any idea of where this woman has taken Anders?"

Cerin shook his head, pursing his lips. "Not yet, other then out into the city somewhere. I've already sent men out trying to find the pair of them, and sent word to all the gates, and down to the docks. Won't be any boats setting out without a very thorough search first, and everything through the gates is being searched as well, but... as long as it's been since the pair of them walked off, he could be miles away by now. Or being held somewhere right under our noses in the city. We... may not ever find him, m'Lord. Or not until it's too late," he finished softly

Sebastian nodded, and turned away to collect himself. "Double the guard on Ewan's suite until this is resolved. And send word to Zevran and Fenris that I need them. I'll be in here if you... if you find anything," he said, knowing he wasn't doing a very good job of keeping the anguish out of his voice, and not particularly caring.

"Yes, ser," Cerin answered dutifully, and hurried off.

Sebastian walked over to the nearest chair, and dropped into it. He didn't know how long it was he sat there before Zevran and Fenris came in, both looking concerned. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they'd already heard the news.

"Up, Sebastian," Zevran all but ordered, expression grim. "There is no time for you to fall apart; we must be moving as quickly as possible. We have little time, I expect, and sitting here feeling helpless is wasting it."

Sebastian looked up, feeling a ghost of hope at the elf's determined expression. "You have an idea of where to look?" he asked sharply.

"No. But I am quite sure Ganwyn and Haelioni might be able to sniff something out, if the trail is not too cold or muddled. And you know the whistle commands for them, do you not?"

Sebastian shot to his feet. "Of course! The dogs!" he exclaimed. He would have run directly down to the cottage, save that Fenris insisted on them gathering his door guards first, and sending word to Cerin of their intentions to use the dogs, and another guard running to the stables to have their mounts and mounts for the guards tacked up and brought around to outside of the sally-port entrance, so they could travel faster.

They stopped inside the sally-port, where Sebastian offered the pair of dogs an article of Anders' clothing to smell, then gave the whistle that told them to hunt. They sniffed around, Ganwyn nosing around the floor while Haelioni lifted her head and snuffled at the air, then Ganwyn yelped and dashed to the outside door, tail wagging frantically and nose glued to the floor.

"Let's hope he doesn't lose the scent," Sebastian said fervently, then called for the door to be opened. Within minutes he and the others were mounted, and following the dogs as they trotted down through the city.


	122. A Brief Rest

The cart coming to a stop woke Anders from his restless doze. He tensed, wondering what was happening, and heard muffled voices somewhere nearby, then felt the cart dip and shudder as someone climbed up onto it. There were thuds and scraping sound, like things were being removed from over top of the box he was in, then a faint dragging sound, accompanied by flickering light from a torch or lantern working its way in through thin cracks between the boards making up the crate, and the muffled quality of what sounds he was hearing changed. He guessed the box must have been covered in a heavy cloth or quilt or something of the kind to muffle any sounds he might might.

A loud scraping sound came next, from somewhere to his left, and he could see the thin lines of light being occluded by movement on that side.

"Careful, don't drop the box," a voice ordered sharply – Seeker Reynard, he realized, and felt himself stiffen in a combination of hatred and fear. Whomever was in the cart moved to the head of the box he was in, and then he felt the jerk and dizzying sensation of the box being moved, lifted, tilted down out of the back of the cart to someone at ground level.

"Got it? It's a heavy one," an unfamiliar voice said, from somewhere near his head. "That's everything? All right, good luck."

He felt the sway of the box being carried somewhere, swallowed back nausea at the disorienting movement. It would be a very bad thing to throw up while gagged. He heard the sound of horse hooves and creaking wheels begin again, and knew the cart must be moving away from where he'd been unloaded. He heard someone mutter what sounded by tone of voice like a curse, in Orlesian.

He felt a surge of panic, realizing the men carrying him and the box were likely templars, and for a moment struggled against his bonds again, accomplishing nothing more than chafing his wrists and ankles between the leather straps and the rough wooden sides of the crate, and making himself lightheaded with lack of air again. There was a dissatisfied mutter and a loud bang against the end of the box. He forced himself to still again.

After a couple of minutes the movement changed, the box being lowered to the floor with a thump. Anders closed his eyes again, forcing himself to breath evenly, to not give in to the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He concentrated on the sounds, trying to decipher them.

Footsteps, multiple people moving around, the odd grunt or thump or scraping sound – more things being carried in, maybe, or shifted around. Then an abrupt silence fell.

A single pair of footsteps approached. There was some faint metallic sounds, the snap of a lock opening, then the lid of the box was thrown back. Anders squinted and blinked, eyes watering at the brightness of lamplight after the darkness inside the box. Reynard was squatted down beside the box. He grinned at Anders in a thoroughly unpleasant manner, before reaching down, his hand closing in a bruising grip on Anders' jaw. Whatever little stock of energy Anders had begun to regain since being drained earlier vanished away as he was drained again.

Reynard rose to his feet, and looked around. "You – come give me a hand with this," he ordered, then bent down and started unstrapping Anders from his confinement. A second figure joined him, visible only in Anders' peripheral vision at first as the second man started work on undoing the straps holding his legs in place.

Once the forehead strap was removed Reynard knotted his fingers into Anders' hair and yanked his head up, reaching in back to undo the strap holding the gag in place. Anders hissed in pain, then got his first good look at the second man.

Not a templar, whoever he was; too young and skinny, and too beaten; his clothes were torn and filthy, bruises both new and fading showing through the rents in the stained fabric. A livid red scar creased the right side of his face from temple to chin, and he moved like someone injured and in pain. When Reynard pulled the gagging object from Anders' mouth and dropped Anders' head, then moved down to begin undoing the strap across his chest, the other man flinched away from him, earning him a dark look from the Seeker. Anders could feel the young man's hands trembling as he began undoing the wide straps holding Anders' wrists against the sides of the box. He closed his eyes again, working his sore jaw for a moment, trying to ignore the unwanted touches as the two finished unstrapping him.

"Get up," Reynard growled, and gave the side of the box a kick.

Anders opened his eyes and glared at him a moment, then grasped the sides of the box and painfully pulled himself upright, a process not helped by his stiffness from being forced into a single position for so many hours, or the unbending nature of the corset under the heavy layers of robes. He looked around the room once he was sitting upright.

It was a single large room, empty save for a pile of furniture stacked in one corner – the furnishings from the small house, Anders thought, recognizing a couple of the pieces – and a large fireplace at one end of the room, with wood stacked ready for a fire. Most of the ceiling was bare rafters and the under-framing of a thatched roof, save for a small area at the end with the fireplace, where a low ceiling formed a small loft area, reachable by a rickety ladder. There was a line of spread-out bedrolls and packs along one wall, a second box nearby like the one he was sitting up in, still closed – doubtless containing Bridie – and a group of six large men waiting nearby, all watching him closely. Reynard stood nearby, arms crossed, the other man remaining kneeling on the ground by Anders' box, his gaze kept lowered to the floor, hunched up and quiet as if hoping not to draw any notice.

One of the men grinned, and raked a look over Anders as he shakily rose to his feet. " _Depuis le temps que je n'ai pas eu de femme, même lui paraît attirant. Est-ce qu'on peut y goûter?_ "1 the man asked loudly. Anders didn't understand his words, but the way the man was grinning at him and the coarse laughter it drew from the other men made the sense of the words clear; something nastily lascivious.

Reynard snorted. " _Pas maintenant, peut-être plus tard,_ "2 he responded dryly, making a dismissive motion with one hand, then turned his gaze on Anders as the mage stepped clear of the box. "Out of that outfit, it's served its purpose," he ordered.

Anders looked uneasily at the group of men watching him. He didn't like the idea of having to strip in front of them, but it didn't appear he was being given any choice in the matter; there was nowhere private in here.

"Strip, or I'll let my men strip you," Reynard said, his tone of voice more bored than threatening, which made his words all the more frightening somehow. Anders quickly set to removing the voluminous chantry robes, ignoring the comments the men were making among themselves as they watched.

While he stripped, Reynard stepped over to the other box and crouched down to unlock the padlock holding it shut. He threw back the lid, then stepped back, and looked down at the bruised man. He reached down, knotting his hand in the man's shift and all but threw him at the box. "Get her up," he said harshly, then walked over to the mound of furniture, yanked a chair free from the pile, and carried it over near the fireplace to take a seat. He lounged back in the chair, looking entirely at his ease.

The Seeker looked at his men. "We leave before first light tomorrow," he told them. "Full armour; I hope we got away cleanly and have a decent lead on any would-be rescuers, but there will certainly be a search begun by now. That bastard of a prince will doubtless want his little catamite back," he added, giving Anders a disdainful look.

Anders gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the man as he pulled off the last layer of clothing over his head, tore off the false bosom, and reached behind his back to unlace the stiff corset. It took a couple of tries to get the knot undone, after which he had the difficult work of undoing the lengthy laces. As he worked he glanced apprehensively over to the other box, where Bridie was just sitting up, her arms wrapped tightly around the shoulders of the young man, head resting on his shoulder, one of his hands stroking her head and back, smoothing her hair, his own head bent close to hers. Anders had to look away, the obvious tenderness in how the man handled her reminding him too sharply of Sebastian.

Though that certainly explained how Seeker Reynard was controlling a blood mage; by controlling someone she cared for, keeping him hostage against her good behaviour. Anyone caught helping an apostate mage could be killed out of hand by the templars; doubtless they were only keeping the young man alive as long as he gave them leverage on her. And judging by his physical condition, and Reynard's words back in the city - "What did I tell you would happen if you refused any command of mine?" – and Bridie's panicked reaction to his words, her pleas that he not "hurt him again" – the young man was being abused whenever Reynard wanted to bring the girl into line.

It made Anders feel ill. And also filled him with rage. The same old tactic of the templars, that they had used as long as templars had been around, their sickening way of controlling any mage foolish enough to become attached to someone else emotionally; to control and punish them by threats or punishment to the person they loved. He remembered his words to Hawke on the subject once, back in Kirkwall, that perhaps someday a mage like him could be in love with someone like Hawke, and there wouldn't be templars around to tear them apart. Clearly that day had not yet arrived; not for Bridie and her young man, not for him and Sebastian.

It did not make him any happier about her having used blood magic to abduct him; quite apart from the issue of the abduction itself, falling to blood magic was one thing he could never forgive, no matter what extremity of circumstances the mage might find themselves in. Because use of blood magic meant trafficking with demons, and _that_ was the prime justification templars used to repress and control all mages; that they might become maleficarum, and either become or spawn abominations, as a result of letting demons overpower them. Even if they avoided that terrible fate, there was also the extreme seductiveness of the power the demons granted them; power that didn't rely on their own reserves, but that could be vastly expanded by shedding the blood of others, as Bridie had used that hapless farmer's blood – thankfully not in quantities sufficient to actually harm him, as far as Anders had been able to tell – in order to have enough power to control five people for long enough to capture and abduct him.

Perhaps it was unfair of him to feel as he did about blood mages, given his own merger with the spirit of Justice – but he'd had to deal with the aftermath of blood magic too many times to have any forgiveness for those who allowed themselves to make use of it. Justice and he may have done a lot of things, and not all of them particularly pleasant, but he'd never sunk so low as blood magic. Not once, not ever, no matter how badly he himself had been treated.

No, the only person here he felt sorry for was Bridie's young man; he doubted that _he'd_ done anything worse than to fall in love with a mage, and try to protect her when the templars discovered her.

The corset fell free at last, letting him draw his first deep breath in half a day, and leaving him dressed in just his smalls and stockings. He shivered, not from chill, but from being exposed before so many strangers. He turned and looked at Reynard, shivering again when he caught the expression in the Seeker's eyes as the man studied his scarred back.

"Get yourself a chair and sit down," Reynard said, gesturing at the pile of furniture, then pointing at the floor a couple feet in front of him. "There."

Anders did as ordered, pretending to a meekness he didn't feel. By the time he'd untangled a chair and carried it over, Bridie was out of her box, and she and her young man were sitting huddled together on the floor in a corner, seemingly trying their best not to draw any attention. The fire was crackling away, and a pair of the templars were busy preparing a simple meal – tea, buttered bread, wedges of cheese, strips of jerked meat, and some dried fruit. One of the men soon brought a steaming mug and a tin plate with a portion of food on it over to Reynard. The Seeker sipped at his tea while studying Anders thoughtfully, unspeaking.

Anders couldn't help but stare at the plate of food; he hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning, and with it now being late evening he was feeling half-starved. Unlike in Kirkwall, when he'd been merged with Justice and used to subsisting on the bare minimum of food necessary to keep himself alive, he was currently used to regular, sizable meals. Just the faint scent of the tea, the smell of the dried meat, was making his mouth water, making him almost painfully aware of how very _empty_ his stomach currently was. He flushed when his stomach betrayed him by gurgling loudly.

One corner of Seeker Reynard's mouth lifted in a slight smile. He kept eating at slow but steady pace, until there was nothing but a few crumbs and scraps left on his plate. He put the mug on it and put it down on the floor beside his chair, then rose to his feet, stepping close to Anders. The Seeker reached out and dug his fingers into Anders hair, yanking out the tie that was still holding his hair in a bun.

" _Il a de jolis cheveux, n'est-ce pas?_ "3 he asked, looking over at his men while finger-combing out Anders' hair. Anders gritted his teeth, trying not to shudder at the touch, while several of the men laughed or made kissing noises, one making a comment in Orlesian that he was glad he couldn't understand. Abruptly Reynard turned away, dropping the tie to the ground and making a dismissive wave. "Someone feed him," he said, then climbed up the ladder to the loft, and paused at the edge. "Find him some clothes, too. Bridie – up here," he added, and turned away, walking out of sight.

Bridie rose to her feet, looking frightened. One of the men laughed, darkly, and she lowered her head, scurrying to the ladder and up it, following Reynard into the darkness. Her companion curled up tightly in his corner, head resting on his upraised knees, arms wrapped around them. The men ignored him. One put together a plate of food and handed it to Anders. He forced himself to eat slowly, rather than wolfing it down. Four of the men made ready for bed, while two took up positions to guard the room – one sitting on the floor by the door, the other taking over the chair Reynard had been in, moving it closer to the fire before sitting down, the chair tilted back and his feet up on the table and arms crossed, watching Anders closely as he ate.

"Clothes?" Anders asked after a few minutes. The man grunted, but turned his head and called something softly to one of the men who was lying down – the youngest looking, and probably the junior of the group. He scowled, but sat up, dug through his pack, and tossed a bundle of cloth at Anders. It fell short on the floor, a shirt, worn and stained but clean. As broad-shouldered as all the templars were, it was going to hang on him like a tent, Anders suspected, but as soon as he'd cleaned the last crumb off of his plate he leaned down to pick it up.

He heard the other chair thump back down, and turned to see the other man looking at him with an odd look in his eyes. "You are scarred," he said slowly, as if having to pick out each word in turn, in an Orlesian accent so thick as to be near unintelligible. "Whipped, _oui?_ "

Anders paused a moment in pulling on the shirt to look at him. "Yes," he agreed warily.

The man nodded, looking mildly impressed. "That much whip, you lucky not dead, eh?"

Anders snorted. "Luckier if I'd never been whipped in the first place," he said bitterly.

The man grinned, then the other guard muttered something in a low voice, gesturing to the loft overhead, and the first man nodded, the grin disappearing. He turned to look at the man curled up in the corner. "You, Phillipe – clean up," he said, then tilted his chair back and resumed his previous silent staring at Anders.

Phillipe rose and moved around the room, as silently as he could, gathering up plates and mugs, hungrily eating whatever scraps remained on them. He stopped and froze once, at the sound of a soft cry from above, glancing up at the ceiling overhead with such a raw look of anguish on his face Anders had to avert his eyes from him. When the plates and mugs had all been gathered, rinsed out in a waiting bucket, wiped and stowed away again, the man returned to his corner, curling up on the floor with his back to the room. Judging by the stains he could see on the fabric, Anders guessed he was not the only man in the room with whipping scars.

Anders looked back to the first guard after a while. "Do I sit here all night?" he asked softly.

"Eh? _Non_. Lie down if you want," the guard said softly, gesturing at the floor, then raised a finger. "No magic. You magic, we beat you, _oui?_ "

Anders nodded tiredly, and slowly rose to his feet, then moved aside. The robes he'd been wearing earlier were still lying where he'd discarded them on the floor; with nothing else to use as bedding, he spread the underrobe out to protect him from the cold floor, then the heavier outer robe over top of him. It still smelled faintly of the dispensary, under the scents of his own fear-sweat, the medicinal scent oddly comforting.

He lay awake a very long time, until after the first two guards had woken a second pair and lain down to take their own turn at rest, before finally dropping off into an uneasy sleep himself..

The situation did not look good.

* * *

**All 'Orlesian' bits provided by Google Translate.**

**1 – As long as it's been since I had a woman, even he looks good. Do we get a taste?  
** **2 – Not now, perhaps later.  
** **3 – He has pretty hair, doesn't he?**


	123. Dogged Pursuit

The dogs had led them down through the upper city easily enough, but began having problems in the more heavily trafficked middle city, sometimes losing the scent for a while and having to cast around up and down side streets before finding it again. Eventually, as night was falling, they led the way to a small house on a side street near the lower town. The door was unlocked; the house empty; the dogs unable to find a trail away from the house.

Sebastian's guards scattered up and down the street, knocking on doors and asking questions. After a few minutes a pair of them brought a nervous-looking woman over to talk to Sebastian and the elves.

"You told the guards you saw something?" Sebastian asked her.

"Y-yes, m'Lord... the man who lived here, he moved out early this afternoon; a cart came, with some men, and they loaded all his furniture and went off with it."

Sebastian frowned. Zevran stepped forward. "Furniture? What sort of furnishings were there?" he asked smoothly.

The woman shrugged. "Didna see all of it; they were just starting loading when I came back from the market. They had a couple of big boxes on the cart and were covering them with a quilt when I went by, with a pair of men waiting to lift a table up on top of it," she said.

Sebastian and Zevran exchanged a look. "How large were these boxes?" Sebastian asked.

The woman shrugged. "Big," she said, and held her hands a couple feet apart. "About that square, and longer than I'm tall, with a rope handle on the end, to make them easier to carry, belike."

Zevran nodded, and quickly asked the woman a series of questions, managing to draw out of her a surprisingly detailed description of the men, the cart, and the pair of horses harnessed to it. Sebastian tipped her a gold piece when she was done, to her evident surprise and delight. She bowed repeatedly as she backed away, before turning away and hurrying back to her own home.

"That cart could be anywhere by now – and the boxes either with it, or somewhere else entirely," Sebastian said darkly. "What now?"

Zevran spoke softly. "Now you loan me most of these fine guardsmen of yours, and you go back to the castle and wait. It will take me a while to determine where the cart went from here, but I promise you, if it can be found out, I will find it."

Sebastian frowned. "I don't wish to abandon the hunt," he said.

Zevran shook his head. "You are not abandoning the hunt, or the mage. You are leaving it in the hands of people who can handle the job for you while you take care of the jobs you _must_ do. The timing of this abduction may well be tied to additional moves on the part of whomever masterminded it; you must be vigilant, and as prepared as you can be. More, if you put aside your duties because of your personal involvement with Anders, it will draw _exactly_ the sort of interest in your private affairs that you have mentioned you wish to avoid. _Trust me_ , Sebastian – Fenris and I will find Anders, if he can be found."

Sebastian swallowed, and turned away for a moment, staring at the empty house. After taking a few deep breaths to settle his roiling emotions he turned back. "You're right," he said dully. "I have duties to more than just Anders. I just..." he stopped, and shook his head, then turned an anguished look on the two elves. " _Find him_ ," he asked. "If I lose him now..."

Zevran nodded. "If he can be found, we will do it. Go, Sebastian. We will keep you informed of anything we learn," he said, his voice warm with compassion.

Sebastian nodded, assigned all but two of the guards to them, and returned up through the city to the castle, escorted by the remaining pair of guards and the dogs. He kept the dogs with him, bringing them into his own rooms. He was too unsettled to even look at any of the work that had piled up since he'd abandoned his work in mid-afternoon; instead he sat in the sitting area, with the dogs, petting Ganwyn's head over and over again as the dog rested his chin on Sebastian's knee, giving him a soulful, worried look. It grew steadily darker, true night coming on. Finally he rose, numbly lighting some of the candles around the room, and sent off to the kitchens for a belated supper. While waiting for it to arrive he went and changed out of his armour, and ducked down the stairs to fetch Ashes from the darkened cottage.

He was halfway through eating his solitary meal when a guard returned with a message from Zevran; they'd found what gate the cart had left the city by, knew what direction it had last been seen travelling in. They would travel at least as far as the crossroads inn, a two-hour ride from the city, and enquire there if the cart had been seen passing by. They would likely spend the rest of the night there, resuming the search in the morning,

It should have been a relief, to know they had not yet lost the trail, but it wasn't. Hours ago the cart had left the city; long hours ago. Whomever had taken Anders had a sizable lead already, and it might well increase, if the men travelled faster than the elves and guards were able to trace their route. And locating a single anonymous cart in an entire wide countryside full of them...

Yet he could not give up hope. Anders had disappeared before and been returned; he himself had been abducted, and successfully rescued by the elves and mage. He had to believe that things would turn out well a third time, Anders recovered, that they would be reunited. The alternative, that he might never see his love again... it did not bear thinking of.

Eventually he retired to bed, facing the fact that there was unlikely to be any further word this night. The hounds followed him into his room, both looking unsettled by the continued absence of their person. Sebastian tried to sleep, but never managed more than a brief doze before his fears and worries re-awoke him. Well before dawn he abandoned his bed, dressing again and then descending to the castle chantry, kneeling in prayer for an hour before reluctantly returning to his rooms to properly begin his day, with a bath and breakfast before settling in to work in his study, with a pile of papers that needed to be read, studied, and dealt with, and no desire to do so.

* * *

The farmer had been understandably frightened when two armed elves and a squad of guardsmen showed up at his door in the middle of the night, led to his place by an equally nervous neighbour. The neighbour had stopped at the crossroads inn on his way back from delivering a pair of piglets to a man who was owed them for the use of his boar earlier in the year. When the party from the city had arrived there and asked after a cart and team that might have passed through earlier in the day, he'd already been drunk enough to volunteer the information that the team they described matched that owned by his friend, whom he knew had been off to the city earlier that day, before considering if the answer might get someone in trouble.

The neighbour and the farmer were both relieved to learn that the elves and guards had little interest in him, just in the man who'd hired him, and where the load had been taken. He explained how he'd met the young fellow at the inn several days before, the young fellow asking around for someone with some time free and a good-sized cart, and how he'd been paid to help the man's father move from the city to join his son, going in the day before to meet the son and some friends of his, and haul the old man and his furniture away. And yes, he could find the place again, though not at night. In the darkness he wouldn't be able to make out any of the landmarks he remembered that would help him find the isolated house again.

The elves and guards stayed the night, the elves sleeping on the floor in the house, while the guards slept in the barn loft with the hay. As soon as the pre-dawn grey lightened the sky enough to see, the whole lot of them were off, the frightened farmer riding one of his cart horses bareback and leading them unerringly to the small house tucked in a woodlot off a winding country laneway some miles off of the main west road. It was a winding route that stuck mainly to back roads; it was nearly mid-morning by the time he reached the place.

He was relieved they let him leave after that, even more so when one of the elves handed him a gold coin for his help – four times as much money as he'd received for travelling into the city to help the old man move. Though he guessed from words the elves and guards let drop in his presence that the old man had not been the young one's father after all, and that they'd stolen something away. And that he was lucky to be alive, that the men hadn't thought him worth silencing, to further muddle their trail.

He returned home resolving not to ever again hire himself and his team out to anyone he didn't personally know. Once burned, twice shy, and no coin, not even the gold one, was worth getting his throat slit over.

* * *

Fenris looked uneasily around the room as Zevran searched it, himself and the guards remaining at the door so as not to disturb whatever clues the assassin might be able to find about what had happened here. He could see one or two obvious ones himself; the pile of furniture stacked haphazardly in one corner, the few embers still glowing among the ashes in the fireplace, the single table, its surface dusted with crumbs of bread and a curl of cheese rind, the two chairs, one near the fire, one facing it.

He could make a few simple guesses based on those clues, but he was sure Zevran, with his sharper eyes and wider experience, could draw entire volumes of information from them. He watched as the other elf climbed a ladder to the small loft, disappearing for a couple of minutes, a frown on his face when he returned.

"I do not believe they are more than a few hours ahead of us now," Zevran said. "The farmer spoke of seeing four men in total when they were unloading the furniture – the old man, his 'son' and two friends. I believe there were perhaps twice that many here."

Fenris looked at him enquiringly, and Zevran gestured around the room as he explained. "There's a bed up in the loft; it was used, and very recently, by two people – male and female, judging by the condition of the sheets." He turned and pointed to the long wall opposite the door. "From the marks in the dust along there, there were bedrolls spread out, six of them. So that's a minimum of eight people here."

Fenris nodded. "Anything that might prove that Anders was here?"

Zevran shook his head and frowned. "No. Other than guessing he was in one of the two boxes that were taken away from the house the dogs brought us to. I wish now that I'd thought to bring them with us, they might be able to scent something here and give us a more definite sign. But it is too late for regrets, and we should try to follow their trail away from here as quickly as we can, before they open up any more of a lead on us."

They went back out to the yard, and around to the back of the house, where there were clear signs that a number of horses had been kept for several days – the grass cropped down, piles of manure and plentiful hoof prints in the soft earth. Following the trail they'd left leaving the clearing was also easy, the horses having trampled a broad swathe across country.

Fenris dispatched one of the guards back to the city to bring word to Sebastian of what they'd learned since leaving the city the night before, and they resumed their journey, pushing their horses as fast as they could go without sacrificing too much endurance for speed. At least they all had remounts with them, and could switch off regularly to give the horses some degree of rest; with luck, the people they were pursuing weren't as well-equipped.

* * *

Anders was woken by the sensation of his power being drained away yet again. The room was only dimly lit, by the coals in the fireplace and the faint grey light of predawn leaking in around the closed door, and through the single small window near it. Bridie was back in the corner with Phillipe, he saw, the two curled together in sleep. Though not for long – the templar who'd drained and woken him was already moving their way.

In a very short time everyone was awake, fed – Phillipe and the mages poorly, tossed the uneaten crusts and rinds leftover from the templar's hurried breakfast – and ready to travel again. The same young templar who'd provided a shirt the night before provided a pair of leggings today. Anders used the sash from Maura's robes to belt the leggings on, and bundled up the robes to bring along with him; the outer robe, while a tight fit without the constraining corset under it, would at least be a change of clothes if necessary, and the robes could continue to served as bedding for him as they had the night before. He left the corset lying where it was in the hope of leaving a clue for anyone following them, but the Seeker and his templar guards were efficient in cleaning up behind them; then they left the building, the only things left before were the pile of abandoned furniture, and a few crumbs from their breakfast.

At least he and Bridie weren't being put back in the boxes for this day's travel; not yet, anyway. The boxes were brought along, however, strapped to pack frames on a couple of sizable horses. Anders, Bridie, and Phillip were put on horseback, the mages tied into their saddles to prevent escape, all three mounts on leads. They set out while the sky in the east was still flushed with the brilliant colours of dawn.

The templars and Seeker were all dressed in proper armour now; not templar armour, nothing as noticeable as that, just a mish-mash of different sets of mail such as might be seen on any random group of mercenary men-at-arms. They set off across-country, heading generally south-west. Occasionally they followed lanes that were running in the right general directions, but mainly the Seeker led his men across fields, seemingly caring little if they were fallow grass or growing crops. Anders doubted anyone would dare complain even if they noticed them passing through; a group of heavily armed men was not something that the average farmer would try to interfere with.

It was a warm day, and growing steadily hotter as the sun climbed up the sky. Anders cheered himself with the thought that if he was warm in a shirt and leggings, the knights must be roasting inside their armour. He was glad Sebastian had made him learn horseback riding, and that he'd kept doing it enough – mainly in the practise ring by the stable, not having any real fondness for it as Fenris did – that he wasn't getting saddle-sores from the ride. Judging by the increasingly pained expressions on Bridie and Phillipe's faces, they were not so fortunate.

The sun was high in the sky before they finally took a break, Reynard leading his men into a line of trees that followed the course of a small stream meandering between the grassy hills of an unfarmed area. His first action on setting foot on ground was to gesture at the two mages, still tied to their horses. "Drain them," he commanded flatly, turning away without even waiting to see if his command was carried out.

" _Wait!_ " Anders called out before any of the templars could do so.

Reynard turned back, a thunderous expression on his face.

"They're developing saddle sores," Anders explained hastily, nodding his head toward the other two. "Let me heal them first. Please."

Reynard didn't even consider the idea, he merely shook his head. "No. They can rub the skin right off their legs for all I care about their health," he said, then pointed at Anders. "And _you_ keep your mouth shut unless asked a direct question by myself, or I'll have you gagged. Understand?"

Anders flushed. "Understood," he grated out.

"Drain them," Reynard repeated harshly, turning away a second time.

Drained and let down from their mounts, the two mages and Phillipe were herded over to one side, a pair of templars standing guard over the three while lunch was prepared and shared out. Again the three prisoners got little more than scraps, the leftovers from the templars' own meal. Phillipe, Anders noted, pressed some of his own food on Bridie, though as gaunt as he was he clearly hadn't eaten well in far too long; presumably he'd been in the hands of the templars all the while she'd been living at the clinic, and for some unknown time beforehand.

Anders knew it wouldn't take very long on such short rations before he began to look more than a little gaunt himself; after just one day of such scant food he knew he was reaching the end of his readily available reserves, and that by this time tomorrow he'd have begun to loose condition, what little body fat he had melting away like snow on a hot spring day as his metabolism used up his remaining energy reserves. Yet he found himself hesitant to raise the issue with Seeker Reynard. He couldn't see himself voluntarily surrendering even that smallest bit of information about himself to the Seeker short of direst need. No, better to starve in silence, and hope that rescue came before physical debilitation. He hunkered down in the dirt, getting what rest he could, idly dragging his finger around in the dirt while they waited.

After the meal and brief rest they remounted, and resumed travelling. Still south-west, though more south than west now, angling toward the distant mountains. Anders wondered if the Seeker was heading for a pass through them, or if he planned to turn west again closer to them and skirt his way through the foothills.

* * *

Zevran rose to his feet. "Ten of them. Seven in armour, three in regular clothing, only one in skirts or perhaps a robe. And I think Anders is indeed one of them," he said, stepping closer to a nearby tree and pointing down at the dirt around its base.

Fenris walked over and leaned down, then smiled, and nodded his head. "I think you're right," he agreed.

Someone had been doodling in the dirt with their finger. Footsteps had obliterated much of the sketch, but the bits that were left were recognizable to anyone who knew Sebastian; part of his head and face, and the armoured sleeve of his armour could still be made out.

Zevran glanced up at the slowing descending sun. "If we assumed they stopped here around mid-day, then we are only two or three hours behind them; we've closed the gap a little. With Andraste's Grace we will close it further. At least they are leaving a very clear track for us to follow; so kind of them to leave obvious swathes over the farmer's fields like this," he remarked, then walked over to remount his ugly gelding.

Fenris frowned in thought as he swung back up onto Ari's back. "You think they may be seeking to mislead us?"

"Not right now, perhaps, not when we have a clear sign that Anders is with them... but if I was seeking to lose followers, then I can think of few better ways to accomplish it than by making an obvious track, and at some point splitting the group, sending some on to continue making such a track, while a smaller group went a different direction, leaving as little sign as they could. Let us hope whomever leads them is not as devious as I would be, in his shoes. And keep our eyes for any sign of anyone turning aside from the main track," he added grimly. "Just in case."

Fenris nodded, and their group resumed following the trail.


	124. Unnecessary Cruelty

**Warnings for: confinement, non-con bondage, implied rape**

* * *

In early evening the Seeker turned their party onto another narrow laneway, following its twists and turns deep into a small forest. They reached a crossroads, with the dilapidated ruins of an old inn set back from the road, the perimeter of the old inn yard defined more by fallen, rotting poles and an overgrowth of brambles and vines than anything that could properly be called a fence. Saplings as thick around as Anders' wrist were growing inside the fence line, the forest slowly reclaiming the long-abandoned place.

They took the horses around back, to the ruins of the stable. A stock of fresh straw and a couple bags of good grain were hidden in one stall; clearly this route had been planned ahead of time, and preparations made for their passage.

Once again the two mages were drained before being untied and helped down from their horses. By now Anders' thighs were sore and chafed from a whole day in the saddle; Bridie and Phillipe could barely stand, having to lean heavily on each other for support, and he could see the stains on their saddles from where tender flesh had been rubbed to blisters, burst, and rubbed further during the long day's ride. He set his jaw grimly, shooting a fierce glare Reynard's way but not saying anything. Surely the man must see that the pair would not last through a second day of such treatment, not without healing anyway.

Which raised the chilling thought that he likely didn't care about their condition because he didn't intend for them to survive the trip; as a blood mage Bridie's life was already forfeit; for helping her, Phillipe's was as well. How better to eliminate any evidence or witnesses to the Seeker having used a blood mage to achieve his goals than by killing the two at some point. Realistically, he had no reason to keep them alive once they stopped being of use to him.

The templars gathered up their gear, and the group of them went inside the inn. It was dusty and musty, and in poor condition, stains on the ceiling and floor showing that the roof overhead was far from waterproof. The stairs up to the second floor were sagging away from the wall, their treads visibly punky and raddled from moisture and the depredations of wood-eating insects. Anders suspected much of the wood in the structure was in little better condition; the place would likely have fallen in long-since, except that the lower walls were built of good solid stone, with a flagstone floor, both of which had stood up to the elements reasonably well. He didn't like the way the ceiling sagged down in between the few supporting columns however, and was glad they were unlikely to be here for more than the one night.

The three of them were herded into one corner of the room, one of the templars standing on guard nearby. Bridie and Phillipe curled up together in the corner, both looking exhausted and in pain. Anders lowered himself to the floor a couple feet away, his back against the wall, feigning more exhaustion than he actually felt. He lowered his head enough so that his loose hair hung down over his face, and kept a wary watch on Reynard and his men from behind the curtain of it.

The templars built a small fire in the cavernous fireplace, kicking apart bits of furniture to provide the fuel for it, one disappearing outside to fetch water from the old well. They soon had their dinner heating – a proper meal this time, a stew, made of some of their dried meat and a few root vegetables, thickened with grain. The smell of the meat and onions cooking brought a rush of saliva to Anders' mouth, and made him feel light-headed with hunger. He had to rest his head on his knees until it passed.

When he raised his head again he saw Reynard looking at him, with an unpleasant look in his eyes. The Seeker turned away after a moment, making a muttered comment to one of the templars. The man laughed softly and darted a look over at the three prisoners, teeth showing in a wide grin. As the Seeker walked off, the templar turned and said something to a nearby pair of templars; they, too, grinned and glanced over at the corner. Anders stiffened slightly, sure that whatever the grins and looks portended, it wasn't anything good.

The templars continued settling in, finding places to spread their bedrolls, pile their packs, taking off and stacking their amour. A pair of them escorted the mages and Phillipe out into the yard each in turn, to where a small slit-trench had been dug in the bushes in back of it. Far from the worse toilet facilities Anders had ever had to make use of, though it made him think longingly of his comfortable bathing chamber in his cottage as he cleaned his hands with leaves and a bit of water grudgingly provided from one guard's waterskin afterwards.

Eventually the stew was ready to eat. The Seeker and his templars stood around eating hungrily from their tin plates. At a word from the Seeker, one of them – the youngest one – carried the nearly empty pot over and placed it on the floor between Anders and the other two. "Eat," he commanded brusquely, and went back to rejoin the others.

They had no utensils, only their fingers. The only way to eat was for the three of them to gather around the pot and take turns reaching in and scooping out the porridge-like leftovers, mainly cooked grain and liquid, and the occasional fragment of meat or chunk of vegetable. It amounted to what should have been a small but satisfying meal for each of them; for Anders, however, it was still far too small a ration. But at least it was enough food to temporarily satisfy the gnawing hunger in his belly.

After the meal the Seeker sent several of the templars out to the stable to retrieve the two boxes. Anders could see the fear in Bridie's eyes as they were carried in, and felt his own breathing going ragged at the thought of being strapped in again, his hands shaking a little before he tightened them on his knees to hide the tremors.

The Seeker walked over, nudged the lid of one box open with the toe of his boots. "In the box, Bridie," he ordered, voice low and dangerous.

The woman paled, and cringed away into the corner. "No! _Please_..." she begged.

Anders shivered at the satisfied look that came over the Seeker's face at her answer. Reynard had _expected_ that response; _wanted_ her to refuse.

"I told you what would happen is you refused a command, Bridie," he said, voice low and threatening. She cried out in panicked denial, scrambled towards the box, but he grabbed her. "Too late, Bridie," he said, twisting her arms painfully behind her back. He turned his pale gaze on Anders, nodded toward the other box, still sitting closed on the floor. "You. Anders. In your box," he ordered.

Anders didn't even consider refusing. He rose and walked over to the box, pretending to a calm he didn't feel, not with the tension in the air, Bridie's cries and struggle, the frightened, sick look on Phillipe's face, the hungry way the templars stood and watched it all unfolding. He opened the lid, stepped in and sat down. For a moment he didn't think he could force himself to lie down, but then the need to was taken away, as the Seeker cast a smite spell, stunning both the mages. Bridie went limp in his grip, and Anders slumped over backwards, vision going dark.

By the time he recovered enough to be aware of his surroundings, a pair of templars were bent over him, fasting the last few straps that held him in the box, all but the gag and forehead strap. He couldn't prevent a shiver of fear from passing through him – _helpless, in the hands of templars_ – and forced himself to close his eyes to the sight of the armoured men stooping over him, forced himself to control his breathing rather than giving into panic, feeling his heart hammering wildly in his chest and a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.

At least they did not close the lid of the box, shutting him away in the dark, though that turned out to be a scant blessing. He could still hear what was taking place in the room; Bridie's begging words, Reynard's snarl, the slap of open palm again flesh, Phillipe's fearful outcry. The soft, menacing laughter of the templars, cloth tearing, fists thudding again flesh. He could do nothing but lie there in his bonds, unable to protest or try to prevent, as the sounds changed from a beating to a different abuse, Bridie sobbing and pleading as Phillipe gasped and moaned and flesh slapped against flesh. The voices of the templars, speaking in Orlesian but their tone of voice and dark laughter still making the sense of their words obvious, as they made ribald comments and egged each other on.

Anders stared at the ceiling overhead, unable to tune any of it out, fighting off the horrific memories of his own that the sounds raised. He tasted bile, and swallowed repeatedly, shaking with his own fear now. Consumed by dread and horror, and worst of all, a thin thread of guilt over his relief that _it wasn't him_ these things were happening to. Finally Phillipe fell silent, likely unconscious, Bridie weeping softly. He wondered if Reynard even understood how dangerous this game was, that he played not just with fire, but with a violent conflagration that would consume them all if Bridie grew desperate or angry or uncaring enough to surrender to her demon.

"Remember this next time you think of refusing, Bridie," Anders heard the Seeker saying, voice menacing. "Now come with me – you have some punishment due as well, before you go into your box. What do you say to that?"

"Yes, ser," she whispered brokenly.

"Good girl," Reynard said, voice husky now.

Anders heard their footsteps retreating; doubtless Reynard had a private corner picked out somewhere in the ruined inn. He caught a glimpse of Phillipe as a pair of the templars dragged him over to the corner and dropped him to the floor there, unconscious and stripped naked, with purpling bruises peppering his face, his torso, his arms, one eye swelling shut.

Anders lay there and shook as a silence fell in the room, broken only by the occasional murmur of the templars as they settled in for the night. Then snores, as they dropped off to sleep, one by one. He supposed there must be a guard, though from where he lay he was unable to see anything but the ceiling overhead, faintly lit by firelight.

He was too terrified to try and sleep himself, and instead simply lay there, shivering convulsively at intervals, wishing with every particle of his being that he was still back in Starkhaven, with Sebastian, safe and protected.

After a timeless interval, he heard the faint scuff of bare feet against the flagstones. One of the templars loomed into view – the one who'd talked to him the first night. He stopped near the foot of the box, frowning down at the floor. Looking at Phillipe, Anders realized realized after a moment.

" _C'est un monde cruel,_ "1 the man muttered after a moment. He turned away, walked out of view, came back carrying a blanket. He spread it over Phillipe, then turned away, and saw Anders looking at him. He looked back at him for a long moment, face inscrutable, then stepped to the side of the box and leaned down, one meaty hand reaching down toward Anders' face.

Anders jerked away as it approached, but even without the forehead strap done up couldn't avoid it. The hand touched against the side of his face with surprising gentleness. Only when the wide thumb brushed at his cheek did he realize he was crying; had been for some time.

" _Allez vous coucher_ _,_ "2 the man whispered softly, almost kindly.

Anders was surprised to find his eyes sliding closed. And slept, deeply and dreamlessly, when he would have expected nightmares to pursue him down into the darkness.

* * *

They pushed on after dark, the swathe through the tall grasses clear enough not to miss even by moonlight. It was only when they reached the laneway that Zevran frowned and decided they should stop for the nights; he didn't want to chance missing any signs that the party had turned off or split.

They set up camp beside the road, avoiding the dusty surface so that any tracks currently there would still, they hoped, be undisturbed the next morning. They set up a cold camp, eating a simple supper of dried meat, hard biscuits, and cheese, washed down with water. There was little conversation, and that hushed.

Zevran and Fenris took a walk away the camp, up to the top of the hill the tracks had curved around just before reaching the road. They stood there in the darkness, slowly turning to look in all directions. It was a clear night, the stars shining overhead, the moon bright enough that their eyes, once dark-adapted, could see that it cast faint shadows on the grass behind them.

"Look," Zevran said suddenly, pointing off the west. "You see why I did not wish a fire?"

Fenris nodded; there was a faint twinkle of light on a distant hillside, like a star fallen to earth. "Do you think that's them?" he asked, staring toward it.

Zevran frowned in thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Not unless they are abominably stupid, which so far they have not appeared to be. Most likely it is a shepherd, watching over their flock, or another traveller, someone with no reason to fear others seeing his light."

Fenris nodded. They stood there a while longer, just watching the night, the sky overhead. Each other, Fenris reaching out to touch Zevran's face, thinking how different he looked by moonlight, all grey shadows and silver highlights instead of the warm golds and browns he was by daylight. He thought of Sebastian, of how he himself would feel if Zevran disappeared, killed or abducted or just... gone... as Anders had. "Will we find him?" he asked, abruptly, not wanting to probe his own emotions too deeply.

Zevran reached up and cupped his own hand over Fenris', turned his head to brush a kiss over his palm before facing him again. "I have hope that we will," he answered softly. "I believe we are making better time than those we pursue; they are a large party, and likely heavily armoured, and I saw no sign of them switching to remounts at any time during the day. They will not be able to hold as good a pace as we can. And undoubtedly we have better horses," he added, smiling, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "Sebastian mounts his guards well, and his friends even better."

Fenris nodded, then looked back down the hill to where the guards and horses were camped. "We should go back," he said, but leaned down to kiss Zevran first, sliding his arms around him and holding him tightly for a long moment. Finally they moved apart, and walked back down the hill in silence.

* * *

**1 – "It's a cruel world."  
** **2 - "Go to sleep."**


	125. Bloody Miscalculations

He felt a moment of panic when he first woke, in darkness, enclosed, unable to move. He ached, muscles protesting the long period of lying in one position, and an unnatural one at that, his arms stiffly out to the sides, legs more than half-asleep from the tightness of the straps holding him down. It took him a moment to identify what had disturbed his sleep, so deep and dreamless had it been, so sudden his wakening. Sobbing, begging – Bridie's voice, nearby. A sudden bang, hand or fist against wood.

"Shut it, woman!" Reynard's voice growled. Bridie fell silent, save for the shuddering breaths of someone trying to cry quietly. "Get him up," he added.

Anders barely had time to wonder who "him" referred to before the top of his box was thrown open, a pair of templars bending down over him. He could not keep back a frightened gasp, not stop himself from trembling and flinching as they touched him, brusquely undoing the buckles on the straps holding him in place, then hauled him roughly to his feet. He hung between them a moment before his legs were able to take his weight, and even then swayed, would have fallen if not for their continued support as they yanked him forward. He glanced quickly around as he sagged in their grip, eyes hidden behind the fall of his hair; a small fire had been built in the ashes of the one from the previous night, the templars were awake and rolling up their bedrolls, putting back on their armour, but it was still dark out, judging by the lack of any light leaking in from outside.

Reynard was standing by the other box, looking annoyed. He pointed toward the corner. "Heal him," he ordered sharply, then turned and stalked off, leaving the room, presumably to gather his own belonging from wherever it was he'd spent the night in the ramshackle structure.

Anders turned, clumsily, and hissed between his teeth as he took in the sight of Phillipe, curled on the cold stone floor in the corner. He was a mass of dark bruises, one eye swollen shut, lips puffed and split. The thin blanket wrapped around him was splotched with dried blood. Something was wrong with his breathing; Anders suspected at least broken ribs, possibly a punctured lung. He cursed and pulled free of the grip of the templars, hurrying over to drop to his knees beside Phillipe, cursing again at his lack of any real power; certainly not enough to truly heal the badly battered man.

He peeled back the blanket, wincing as he took in the full extent of the man's injuries. He couldn't heal everything; could only patch the worst of it, enough to give the man some chance of recovery. If he wasn't beaten again, if he was allowed some rest. If he had proper food, proper care. Nothing he was he likely to have in the templar's hands, Anders thought bitterly.

But he was a healer; he would do what he could. His hands lit with healing energy, and he set to work, beginning with the worst of the injuries, losing all track of his surroundings as he bent over the broken, bruised man, recklessly spending every bit of power he had. No sense in holding anything back, he thought as he worked; doubtless Reynard would order him drained when he finished. So he might as well drain himself, putting his power where it might at least do some good. So he did, expending everything, until he blacked out.

He wasn't out for long; he woke what must have been no more than a few minutes later, a templar squatting down beside him and shaking his arm. The friendlier one, he muzzily realized.

"Drink," the man said, holding out a waterskin. When Anders proved too weak to take it, he grunted, and lifted Anders to a sitting position to help him drink from it. He set Anders down again afterwards, walked over to where the others were wolfing down a cold breakfast of more bread and cheese, and came back with some, breaking off small bits with his fingers and feeding them one by to Anders.

Anders watched him warily as he ate, wondering why this templar made an effort to be kind when none of the others did. As he was feeding Anders the last few bites of bread, the templar gestured at Phillipe. "He live?" he asked.

Anders shrugged, answered honestly. "I don't know. I couldn't heal it all." The templar frowned, clearly having trouble following his words. "Maybe," Anders said resignedly.

The templar nodded. That word he seemed to understand. He fed the last of the bread to Anders, then pulled his waterskin from his belt and gave him another drink. Anders had recovered enough to be sitting on his own by then; once he was done, the templar hauled him the rest of the way up to his feet. "Toilet," he told Anders, and led him out of the inn to the slit trench. The sky was only just beginning to lighten, everything grey and silent, save for the occasional chirp of a single bird, an early riser, the first random notes of what would soon be a full dawn chorus of calls.

When they went back inside, the templar led him over to the box. Anders started trembling as they approached it, terrified that he was about to be put back in it, but instead the templar kicked the lid shut and lowered Anders to sit on top of it before wandering off in search of his own breakfast. Anders sat and shook, forcing his breathing to calm again, pulling himself back together. He _had to_ stay calm, he told himself. He would do himself no good if a chance at escape came along and he was too upset to see it or take advantage of it. But he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself together for very long if he was shut away in the box again. He sat there quietly, counting slowly, forcing himself to inhale and exhale at timed intervals, trying to remain calm and he watched Phillipe sleep, and listened to the sound of Bridie's harsh, uneven breathing from the other box.

The Seeker walked back into the room, still scowling. He strode over and looked down at Phillipe, then turned and looked at Anders. "Can he ride?" he asked shortly.

Anders looked tiredly at the man. He bit back the first three answers he thought of; being exhausted or stressed often seemed to bring out his sarcastic side, and he suspected the Seeker would react poorly to such. "Not for long," he finally said. "Or at any pace that strains his injuries."

The Seeker muttered a curse and turned to glare balefully at Bridie's box. He must still think he had some use for the girl, Anders decided, or he wouldn't be so clearly put out over the idea of potentially losing his hold over her. Which made him wonder why the man had indulged himself so sadistically the night before, letting his men half-kill Phillipe as they had.

"Guillaume!" the Seeker called out, almost an angry shout.

The templar who'd helped Anders turned around, looking questioningly at the Seeker. "Oui, Seeker Reynard?"

Reynard gestured at Phillipe. "Put him in the mage's box for now. You," he added, turning and pointing at Anders. "Will ride again for today."

Anders nodded, and rose from the box, moving aside while Guillaume, with the help of the youngest templar, wrapped Phillipe in the blood-stained blanket, then picked him up and carried him over lowering him almost gently into the box. The templar only did up enough of the straps to prevent Phillipe from sliding around inside the box and being injured any further, before closing and fastening the lid.

Everything was carted out to the yard after that, the horses fetched from the stables. It took four templars to lift each of the boxes into place on the pack-frame on each of the two cart horses that had been brought along to carry them. Once they were secured in place Anders was put on a horse – not the same one as yesterday – and tied into the saddle again, and they set out, away from the inn, taking the southwards road.

* * *

The last dawn colours were just fading when they came across the ruined inn. It was clear from the tracks that their quarry had been here, and had departed already.

"Wait here a moment," Zevran commanded, tossing his reins to Fenris then dropping off his horse and hurrying off, following the tracks of horses off around back of the inn. Fenris sat and waited, watching the surrounding woods warily, the guards waiting patiently.

After a few minutes Zevran came back into view, almost running and with a grim look on his face. He climbed back into the saddle, retrieved his reins, and got them moving again before speaking. "They were certainly here, and recently – no more than an hour ago, judging by the coals of their fire."

Fenris glanced over at him. "And?" he asked, sure there was more.

Zevran shot him a look. "And there was blood on the floor in one corner; a lot of it. Someone has been hurt, and I doubt it was one of the kidnappers."

Fenris nodded, his own expression turning grim. They continued south, following the trail of the horses, at as fast a speed as they could manage.

* * *

It was nearing noon before they stopped again, in the foothills of the Vimmark Mountains. They were in heavy forest now, a mix of deciduous and evergreen trees; oaks, maples, and willows, pines and firs and spruce, with heavy undergrowth everywhere off of the narrow road they followed. They pulled up in a small clearing. The Seeker ordered the boxes taken down, and a pair of templars stood watchful guard on Anders while that was done, for once not draining him as soon as they stopped.

Phillipe was still alive, the repairs to the worst of his injuries having held through the morning's travels. Anders poured what energy he had into him, mainly concentrating on reinforcing the repairs he'd already done, though he also eased a few of the young man's less life-threatening injuries. He exhausted himself; not to the point of blacking out as he had that morning, but certainly to the point he was feeling shaky and lightheaded. He sat and rested, his head on his knees, his dizziness and hunger making him feel more than a little nauseated.

Hearing an outcry nearby, he quickly lifted his head and looked around, and saw a pair of templars crouched over Bridie's box. For a moment he thought they were tormenting her in some way, and then realized they were merely undoing the straps holding her in. She was struggling and crying, almost hysterical in her _need_ to be out of the box.

The Seeker turned away from where he was standing talking with a different pair of the templars, and strode over in a few long steps, leaning down to pull Bridie up by the hair and slap her across the face. "Quiet!" he snapped at her. For a moment she gaped at him, open-mouthed, then her eyes fell on Phillipe, lying so still and quiet in the other box nearby, and she screeched and twisted in his grip. She clawed at Reynard, fingernails gouging bloody paths across his cheek before he jerked his head back out of reach and flung her away from him, cursing and reaching up to touch his cheek. He blinked at his fingertips, staring at the blood for a moment before paling and going for his sword, abruptly realizing what danger he was in, with fresh blood shed in the presence of a blood mage with little grip left on her own sanity.

Anders scrambled for cover as templars converged on the screaming woman, crouching down by Phillipe's box. He didn't know which to be more frightened of at the moment; the templars or Bridie. Either way, he decided, he and his patient were both too close to everything. He grabbed the rope handle in the end of the box with both hands, dug in his heels, and heaved. For a moment it resisted, then the head of the box lifted a little in his grip, and the foot of the box grated as it began to move across the gravelly surface of the road. He quickly backed up, keeping it in motion, adrenaline and his Grey Warden powers lending him the strength he needed to drag it away from the fight, over to the edge of the clearing.

He could tell that the templars had tried to silence or smite Bridie, but with fresh wounds providing her with a continuing source power she was not so easily stopped as the average mage would have been; in addition to the freely bleeding scratches on Reynard's face, she'd clawed open the skin of her own arm now, a vortex of blood droplets streaming out to swirl around her, keeping the templars at a distance.

She gestured, and one of them abruptly turned away from her, attacking the man beside him; a blood slave, Anders realized, feeling a chill go through him. The man would fight his fellows until either he or she was killed, and every one he wounded would be a source of further power to Bridie, any one he killed even more so, a lethal equation with only one possible answer. His fellow templars cut him down without hesitation; better to be forced to deal with the boost of power a single bloody death gave her than to have her raising power from all of them.

Anders dropped to his knees, head swimming, feeling ill as he watched the fight rage on. Abruptly he realized that with all of the templars concentrating on fighting Bridie, no one was paying attention to him. He gave a last look toward her, then down at the helpless Phillipe, and cursed, wavering for a moment between his need for freedom and his need to protect his patient. But there _was_ no protection he could give Phillipe, not realistically. All he could do was flee, and hope that in his impatience to chase Anders down, the Seeker would not bother removing this one loose end first.

He flipped the lid of the box shut, for whatever little additional protection it might give the man, then turned and moved away, pushing through the thick bushes around the edge of the clearing and hoping it would be some time before Reynard or his men realized that he had vanished, and longer yet before they could do anything about it.


	126. Flight and Pursuit

Fenris pulled up his horse as they rounded a curve and saw light ahead; a clearing, and in the middle of it, motion. Zevran stopped beside him, rising in his stirrups as he stared ahead , trying to make out what was taking place in the road ahead of them.

"Weapons at the ready," Fenris ordered the guards, loosening his own sword in its sheath; not a weapon he could easily use from horseback, and best left where it was for now. "Forward," he commanded, and they fell into formation as best they could on the narrow road, riding forward.

The motion proved to be a group of frightened horses, still tacked up, having been kept from fleeing by reason of their reins being looped around the branches of a tree at the edge of the clearing. The source of their fright was obvious; a circle of scorched and melted earth, the twisted and burnt remains of a person sprawled on the ground in the centre of it. Three other corpses littered the ground, all armoured men. To one side was a collection of packs, several opened, bread and cheese set out on a scrap of clean cloth. And two large wooden boxes; one reduced to a few smouldering scraps of wood, the other dragged off to one side, its lid closed.

Fenris was off his horse and running toward the box even before Zevran dismounted, heart pounding in his chest. He flung opened the lid, freezing for a moment as he saw the battered man strapped down inside of it, then swore. Not Anders. He looked at Zevran, worried. "Have we been following the wrong men after all?" he asked anxiously.

Zevran crouched down and quickly examined what of the man he could uncover without first unstrapping him, then strode over to the pile of backpacks and quickly dumped them out. He suddenly exclaimed happily, rising to his feet with a bundle of cloth in his hands, and shook it out. A chantry robe; one cut for a female. "I think he was here," Zevran said jubilantly, and came back over to take a second look at the man's injuries. "Most of these injuries look too well-healed to have been caused last night. Unless, of course, someone healed them."

"Anders," Fenris said, voice full of relief.

"Yes," Zevran agreed, then rose to his feet, looking around the clearing again. "If there were ten people in total, as I thought from the signs yesterday... then they are down to five now, Anders and four others. They are not here, and they did not take their horses, so..."

He turned slowly, then pointed at the undergrowth nearby. "Broken branches; you see? They went that way. On foot, because horses cannot travel easily in such thick underbrush. In fact we will have to leave our own here, if we are to follow." He paused a moment, lips pressing together for a moment as he thought. "I do not believe they can have planned to leave their belongings and horses here; something caused them to enter the bush. I must believe this means that someone – most likely Anders – fled while they were distracted in battle, and that they pursue him, trying to recapture him."

Fenris nodded. He quickly called out orders for two pairs of guards to remain behind, to care for the wounded man and bury the dead, and keep guard over their horses and everything else found here, then he and Zevran led the way into the forest, following the signs of passage.

* * *

Anders ducked under a thick tree branch, skirted a patch of closely-growing balsams, and scaled a small rock-face, hissing as the rough stone abraded his finger-tips. He flung himself down on a patch of thick moss at the top of it, feeling drained and overheated from his flight through the heavy bush and needing to stop a moment to catch his breath. He had one major advantage, he's quickly realized; dressed in simple cloth as he was, it was likely rather easier for him to travel though the forest overgrowth, especially when it came to obstacles like the rock face, than it would be for the knights in pursuit of him.

He didn't remain there long, just long enough for his heart to begin to slow from its frantic pounding, then rolled over and back to his feet, moving off along the top of the low ridge. He let himself travel at a walking pace for a while, following the ridge as it sloped up to the south, then when he came to a place where he could, turned eastwards, soon dropping back down to a small valley. A stream meandered through the trees at the bottom, heading generally north-east, the direction he wanted to go. Remembering an old trick, he sat down on the ask long enough to pull off his shoes and socks, and roll his leggings, before setting off downstream, toes curling tightly at the cold bite of the water. He supposed it must be spring-fed; such waters tended to be cold.

He stayed in the stream until his feet were aching with the cold, then climbed out again, sitting down on the bank for a moment to put his footwear back on. Spotting a clump of young cattails while he was pulling his shoes back on woke an old memory, and he paused long enough to yank a few up by the roots. He swished them around in the water to wash the mud off, then headed off again. The roots were crunchy and fibrous, with little flavour, but nutritious, and edible raw; to his half-starved body, it was ambrosial. The young greens could be eaten too, and had an almost peppery flavour. He gnawed hungrily on the plants as he strode along, feeling considerably better for having a little food in his belly.

It wasn't enough to make up for the short rations and stress of the last few days, however, nor how thoroughly he'd drained himself twice today. By the time he reached where the stream emerged from the forested valley to an area of low grass-covered hills, he was feeling exhausted and in need of rest. He moved away from the stream along the edge of the forest for a while, until he came to a fallen tree covered by a heavy overgrowth of leafy vines. He lifted the mass of vines aside, and wormed his way beneath the slanted trunk, letting the vines fall back down and conceal him.

He only meant to rest a while, but the warmth of the day and his tiredness conspired to make him fall asleep.

* * *

One of the guards proved to be experienced at tracking through forest, having been a hunter for some years before joining the guard. With him leading the way, they followed the trail the others had left with ease, even when it climbed up a steep rock face, or followed a stream bed downstream.

"How do you follow tracks in water?" Fenris asked, perplexed.

The guard glanced back at the pair of elves and grinned, then gestured at the gravel stream bed as he continued leading them. "There is a little fuzz of algae growing on the stones here; where people have walked, it has been scuffed away, and some of the gravel flipped over to show the clean underside. It is possible to use water to help hide your tracks, but only if you know how and where to step to leave little sign. Whomever we are following has made no sign to hide their passage."

Eventually the tracks re-emerged from the stream, the marks of bare and armoured feet in the mud lining the banks clear to everyone. They stopped to pull on their own boots, adding to the muddle, then set off again.

"Do you think we're any closer to them?" Fenris asked worriedly.

"Perhaps," Zevran said. "I do not think we can be all that far behind them; if we are right and they are pursuing Anders, then they are having to follow the faint tracks left by a single man who has much past experience at escaping templars. We, on the other hand, are pursuing the much more obvious tracks left by a group of heavily armoured men moving through the forest with no attempt to hide or disguise their passage. We will catch up with them, hopefully in time to prevent them from taking any regrettable actions with our mage; I doubt they will be in the best of moods after fighting a battle, loosing several men, and chasing Anders through heavy forest."

Fenris nodded. They hurried onwards, following the guardsman's lead.


	127. An Embarrassing Position

Voices woke him. Old habits kicked in, making Anders lie still and silent when he first awoke, evaluating where he was and what was happening near him before taking any action. Voices again, not close enough to make out the words, but the tone, yes – and to recognize who was speaking. Seeker Reynard, coldly furious. Guillaume, sounding exasperated. They fell silent again. He remained still, sure they must be near and not wanting to risk making any noise that gave away his hiding location. He held his breath as the sound of their footsteps became audible. They were close; very close.

" _Il est proche, très proche,_ "1 he heard the Seeker mutter, voice a near-whisper. He couldn't be more than a few feet away.

Something teased at the edges of his perceptions; a faint whisper of near-sound, like the high-pitched whine of a mosquito but not heard with his ears; a sensation he was all-too familiar with from years ago, in Amaranthine, when that bitch Rylock would hunt him down. He stiffened in shock. _They had a phylactery_. But his had been _destroyed_ , just before he left Amaranthine; he'd crushed it himself, before fleeing, after taking it from one of the dead templars.

That first day, when he'd been knocked unconscious – they must have made it then, he realized. Just in case he did manage an escape, as he had.

"Come out, mage! You cannot escape us!" the Seeker suddenly bellowed.

Anders started, then sprang into motion, throwing him out from underneath the log, on the opposite side from where he thought the templars were. As he rolled to his feet he got a brief glimpse of their startled faces, and then he was running, sprinting into the forest, away from them. An angry shout from behind let him know they were in pursuit. His only hope now was to outdistance them again, to get away and this time stay away.

He heard the twang of a bow, felt a sudden pain in his thigh, and tumbled to the ground as his leg gave way from beneath him. He cursed, grabbing at his leg, having only enough time to take in the arrow sunk deep into it before the Seeker drew close enough to smite him, sending him back down into darkness.

* * *

Waking up frightened was getting old, was his irreverent thought as he regained consciousness a few minutes later. He was on his back on the ground, surrounded by the Seeker and three templars – the kind one, the young one, and one of the ones given to coarse remarks. His hands and ankles were both bound, though at least he'd been spared the indignity of being hog-tied. His leg ached abominably.

The young templar was crouched down beside him, examining where the arrow was sunk into his thigh, hands surprisingly gentle as he handled Anders' leg. The kind one bent down to look as well, and frowned. " _Faut-il enlever la flèche?_ "2 he asked.

" _Non, attendez jusqu'à ce que nous soyons de retour au camp, et que nous ayons des bandages prêts_ _,_ "3 the young one replied.

The only words Anders understood in that was "no", "camp" and "bandages". He supposed they must be discussing whether or not to remove the arrow. He was surprised to realize he still had a little power; they'd captured him, but none of them had yet drained him. He swallowed. "If you pull it, I can heal it," he said. The two of them looked at him, then looked toward the Seeker for a decision.

Reynard was scowling. "We will tend it back at camp," he snapped.

The other templar snorted. "Why not just kill him here? We have lost too many good men in this foolishness!"

Reynard's head snapped around, and he glared at the man. "Because our orders are to bring him in alive. The Divine wants a prisoner to see brought to trial and publicly punished, not a damned martyr!"

The templar snorted, then turned to look down at the mage, and scowled. "It will be difficult to carry him, if the arrow remains in his leg," he pointed out.

The Seeker spat a curse, then sudden stepped forward, knocking the young templar over in his haste. He bent down, grabbed the arrow, and yanked it free. Anders cried out and curled up in pain, bound hands reaching for the bleeding hole in his leg. Before he could heal it, Reynard slapped his hands away and drained him.

" _Ce n'était pas nécessaire,_ "4 Guillaume said mildly, giving Reynard a look of distaste, then drew a knife from his belt. Anders flinched as the man reached down. Guillaume paused for a moment, giving him a look, then patted his uninjured leg comfortingly before using the dagger to cut a couple of long strips off the bottom of Anders' shirt. One he folded into a pad and pressed against the wound, handing the other to the young templar. " _Aide-moi avec ceci, Antony._ "5

The other templar – Antony – efficiently wrapped the strip around his leg, binding the pad in place, the two of them ignoring the Seeker's visibly fuming presence as they took care of the wound. Then with Antony's help Guillaume stood Anders up, leaned down, and hoisted him up over his shoulders, with his legs hanging down on one side of the templar's neck and arms on the other. Anders yelped as the change in positions put pressure on his wound for a moment. It was a rather humiliating position, he found himself thinking as the man rose upright, steadying him with one arm wrapped around his legs and the other threaded through his bound arms. It reminded him of the was a farmer might carry a lamb or kid to market.

They set off back west along the edge of the forest, back toward the road, which was somewhere out of sight beyond the curve of the forested hills. The Seeker led the way, Guillaume in the middle, and the other two templars in back of him. Anders sighed and thought dark thoughts about what he'd have liked to do to the templars were it not for the slight problem of him being seriously lacking in power at the moment. And tied up. And _tired_ , even after his unscheduled nap. And hungry again. The thought made his stomach growl loudly.

Guillaume turned his head to peer at Anders. "Hungry?" he asked.

Anders sighed. His stomach gurgled again. "Yes," he admitted sulkily.

Guillaume snorted in amusement, and released Anders' legs for a moment to dig in his belt pouches with one hand. He produced a strip of jerky, and held it up near Anders' face. "Eat," he said.

Anders managed to get the end of it in his mouth. It was dry as an old bone, and tasted more like salty leather than meat, but his mouth flooded with saliva and he gnawed industriously on it, swallowing bits as they softened and worked loose. Concentrating on eating it without having it drop out of his mouth took most of his concentration; they had reached the road again by the time he started paying attention to his surroundings again.

" _Il est lourd, j'ai besoin de me reposer,_ "6 Guillaume said tiredly. Antony stepped forward, and helped him to put Anders down on the ground.

The Seeker frowned, then crossed his arms and nodded. "We rest, then," he agreed, sounding annoyed.

Presumably, Anders guessed, because the two had not waited for permission from him first. He found himself wondering about Guillaume's seeming independence from the Seeker; the man paid only the minimum of attention to Reynard's orders, and seemed to hold him in some dislike. Yet Reynard wasn't the sort that Anders judged likely to tolerate any form of insubordination, so why hadn't he done something about it?

His musing was interrupted by the man crouching down to hold out his waterskin and help Anders to drink some of it. Then he pulled a few pieces of dried fruit out of another belt pouch, and gave Anders a piece to chew on before rising to his feet and eating the rest himself.

"All right," Guillaume said after a few minutes, and lifted Anders up again. "We go."

Seeker Reynard snorted and turned away. They started to follow the road into the woods, back towards the clearing where they'd left everything earlier. Anders turned his head over on Guillaume's shoulder, and looked back down the road, watching the open grasslands recede. He'd been so close... if only he hadn't fallen asleep, he thought miserably.

And saw several figures step out into the road behind them, back where they taken their break.

* * *

**1 – He is close, very close.  
** **2 – Should we remove the arrow?  
** **3 - No, wait until we're back at camp, and have bandages ready.  
** **4 – That was not necessary.  
** **5 – Help me with this, Antony.  
** **6 – He is heavy; I need to take a rest.**


	128. Surprises

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to keep breathing evenly, hoping that his expression hadn't betrayed the presence of people behind them. _Let it be rescue_ , he thought, and considered the glimpse he'd had. Just silhouettes, in the shadowed edge of the forest, against the sunlit brightness of the grassy hills beyond. But they'd had the shape of armed and armoured men, and he was pretty certain one of them had the small stature of an elf; Zevran, he hoped desperately. Certainly not Fenris – though if it _was_ Zevran than the other elf was likely around as well – as the warrior was tall for an elf, tall as a human, and therefor not so easily picked out of a single brief glimpse of distant shapes.

He could feel his heart thudding with the surprise of it still, and found himself hoping that Guillaume hadn't noticed, or that if he had, he attributed it to something easy to dismiss, like Anders feeling panicked at having been recaptured. He found himself straining to hear any sound of people catching up with them, and had to remind himself to keep breathing, to stay relaxed.

The wait grew too much. He opened his eyes again, and saw... nothing. Trees. A curve in the road, whatever was behind them out of sight beyond it. The two templars in back of him, the young one gazing up at the trees arching overhead, the other one frowning darkly at Anders. Seeing the mage looking at him, he grinned, one hand dropping to caress a dagger on his belt. He was, Anders idly noted, the only one of them carrying a bow; it had been his arrow that ended Anders' attempt to outrun the templars.

Guillaume suddenly came to a stop, head lifting as he turned to peer into the forest off to their right. A moment later he cursed, and lunged toward the opposite side of the road. " _Antony, par ici!_ "1 he shouted as he moved.

Anders got a glimpse of guardsmen dressed in the Starkhaven colours plunging out of the bushes alongside the road, a whirl of motion that had to be Zevran, the blue glow of Fenris' tattoos.

Seeker Reynard was shouting angrily. "Kill the mage!" he bellowed. "Kill him now!"

Guillaume dropped to one knee, and tumbled Anders off his back to the ground at the base of a tree, then rose again, drawing his sword; a two-handed weapon. For a moment Anders feared for his life, but the templar made no move to follow Reynard's orders, instead crouching defensively over Anders, the tree at his back. Antony had run over to join them, and moved into place at his left, unslinging a shield and drawing a sword of his own. He suddenly went from looking very young to very competent and dangerous.

Seeker Reynard was trying to fight his way to them, but there were too many guardsmen between him and them; the fourth templar had encountered Zevran, and was already falling to the ground, his throat slit, eyes wide with horrified disbelief at how quickly the slight figure had disarmed and dispatched him.

A group of guardsmen rushed Guillaume and Antony; Antony stood firm, protecting their left flank, his shield seeming an immovable wall as he fought off multiple attackers at once. Guillaume and he were clearly well-used to working together, the larger templar holding his place, his massive sword moving with a nimbleness that would have seemed at odd with the blade's size, if Anders wasn't familiar with seeing Fenris' similar dexterity with an equally oversized sword.

He realized he'd lost track of Fenris, after seeing the flare of his lyrium lines at the start of the fight. He craned his head around, peering between Antony's legs, and finally caught sight of him, a grim expression on Fenris' face as he circled around the guardsmen engaging the Seeker, the glow of his lines muted again. The Seeker was working his way back towards the treeline, where he'd potentially be able to keep them from encircling him. Though how much good that would do him when one of his few remaining templars was already down and dying, the remainder of them facing a force that outnumbered them by more than two to one... his sword snaked past his shield, and one of the guardsman cried out and reeled back, his own weapon dropping to the ground as he clutched at a nasty gash laying his upper arm open to the bone. The Seeker skipped back closer to the trees lining the road.

Fenris, however, had other ideas. Even as Anders sucked in air and bit his lip, the elf suddenly leaped to one side and back in a move as smooth and graceful as a dance, ending behind the Seeker's back. The man desperately pummelled back the guardsmen in front of him with his shield, ducking just in time for Fenris' sword to pass harmlessly above his head rather than removing it at the neck. He dived to the side, and rolled to his feet again, forced back toward the middle of the road. "Antony! _Kill the mage_ ," he commanded again, voice an infuriated roar.

Antony made no move to do so, instead grimly holding off the guardsmen attacking him. Zevran had abandoned the first templar and moved over to engage Guillaume; so far the templar was holding him off, a look of grim concentration on his face as he countered the assassin's every move. Sometimes just barely, but that he was even doing it at all said much for just how talented a fighter he was.

Fenris was once more trying to flank Reynard, while a group of guardsmen kept the Seeker occupied. He was clearly aware of the elf's attempts, and kept backing and turning, again trying to work his way to a position where he'd have some small advantage of terrain on his side. He'd managed to take two more guardsmen out of the fight – one with a stab to the leg, another with a blow to the head – but they were quickly replaced. The guardsmen closed in, made an effort to encircle him, and he cursed, then suddenly gave an especially loud shout. The guards went stumbling backwards from the force of it, several of them falling to the ground, stunned. Reynard whirled, taking advantage of the break in battle to try and take out the elf, whom he'd correctly identified as a larger threat than the guardsmen.

Fenris, however, had not been affected by Reynard's vocal rebuff, and was ready for the attack. They exchanged a blindingly rapid series of blows and blocks, the Seeker desperately warding off the warrior's two-handed blows with sword and shield. And then Fenris suddenly side-stepped past him, ducking under his sword to rise in back of him, his entire body flashing forth with a brilliant blue glow as his hand plunged into Reynard's back.

The man gave a pained scream, rising up on his toes as Fenris' hand clenched deep in his chest, then collapsed to his knees as Fenris tore his hand back out again, covered in gore. The Seeker wavered for a moment on his knees, then fell forward, blood gushing from his mouth to stain the dusty road.

Fenris turned and strode confidently toward the two templars standing over Anders, ready for his next target.

" _Par la grâce d'Andraste, qu'est-ce que c'était!_ "2 Anthony exclaimed, voice filled with horror, having witnessed Reynard's end. " _Est-il un démon?_ "3

Whatever his horrified words meant, his obvious fear of Fenris did not prevent him from putting up a stalwart defence as the guardsmen parted to let the elf move in to the attack. Antony was good; very good – but not as good as Fenris. The elf's third stroke knocked him off balance, Antony fending the sword off successfully but being driven down on one knee by the force of the blow, a pained gasp escaping him.

" _Antony!_ " Guillaume exclaimed fearfully, and suddenly a soundless force burst forth from him, hammering Anders down against the ground, throwing everyone else back, even Fenris being knocked off of his feet by the strength of it. Antony was thrown to hands and knees by it, his sword skittering away across the ground. He crouched there, looking dazed. Guillaume cursed, then leaned down, grabbed the back of his armour with one hand, and heaved on it, dragging him backwards and dropping him almost on top of Anders.

The big templar rose back to his feet, standing protectively over the pair of them, and gestured with his sword as Zevran, Fenris and the guardsmen regained their feet and lunged towards him. A shimmering sphere of energy popped into view around the three, keeping the elves and guards at a distance.

Anders rolled over on his back, staring up at Guillaume in shock. "By the Maker's pimpled arse! You're a _mage!_ "

* * *

**1 – Antony, to me!  
** **2 – By Andraste's grace, what was that!  
** **3 – Is he a demon?**


	129. Guarded Surrender

Guillaume glanced down at Anders, a faint smile creasing his face. " _Oui_ ," he agreed, then returned his attention to the people encircling his bubble of energy. It was a very strong bubble – their voices were only barely audible through it, though judging by Fenris' expression the warrior was of a mind to attempt hewing through it with his sword. Zevran was trying to calm him down, and the guards had spread out, encircling the bubble as best they could and waiting developments. "Antony?" the big templar asked in an anxious tone of voice.

The younger templar groaned and sat upright. He looked around at the looming guards and the two elves, then sighed and crossed his legs, and looked at Anders. "So. Friends of yours?" he asked calmly.

Anders snorted. "Yes," he said shortly. "Give up – you're not taking me any further."

One corner of Antony's mouth lifted slightly, and he shrugged. "If you can talk your friends into not killing us out of hand – Guillaume and I actually have no real interest in your capture. It was Reynard we were interested in."

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if I wasn't all tied up," Anders pointed out dryly.

Antony pulled out a belt knife – which action startled an enraged shout from Fenris loud enough to be heard clearly even through the bubble – and sliced apart the cords binding Anders' wrists and ankles, then helped him to sit up. Anders looked back and forth between the two men. "Are you really templars?" he asked suspiciously. "Or is this some kind of ruse? Are you a mage as well?"

Antony smiled crookedly. "Yes, we are really templars. The only ruse here is not directed at you. And no, I am not a mage. But explanations of all this will take time; perhaps you can convince your friends that we are no danger to you or them, and we can allow Guillaume to drop his shield?"

Anders nodded. "Help me to my feet," he said. Antony did so, though given the limited amount of space within the bubble stayed down on his knees himself. Anders hissed at the ache in his wounded leg, and leaned on Antony's shoulder. He looked uneasily at Guillaume's drawn sword. "Think you can put that thing away?" he asked. "They're more likely to believe you two are surrendering if you're not armed."

Antony said something in Orlesian to Guillaume. The big man nodded, and reversed the sword, resting the tip on the ground, his hands wrapped loosely around the hilt and crossguard. He dropped to one knee; not an entirely defenceless position, but not one from which he could easily attack, either. Antony nodded approval, resting his hand on the larger man's shoulder. Guillaume drew a deep breath, then the bubble's shimmer vanished.

* * *

Zevran watched interestedly as the younger of the templars within the shielding bubble of energy freed Anders. The two talked briefly, then he helped the mage to his feet, and the larger templar reversed his weapon and went to one knee.

"I do believe they're surrendering," Zevran observed, moments before the shimmering shield around the three of them dissipated. Fenris scowled, hand tightening on his sword, and he took a half-step forward. "Are you all right, Anders?" he asked sharply.

Anders nodded. "Well enough. Slightly punctured but nothing I can't fix once I have energy again."

Zevran looked at the two templars curiously. "Am I right in assuming you have agreed to allow these two to live?" he asked.

"Yes," Anders said, and glanced at the two warily. "We have some talking to do before they can go on their way, however."

Zevran nodded. "Well. Why don't we continue on to where the horses and all our supplies are, before beginning? Not as pleasant a spot as this, I'm afraid, the decor seeming to run more to scorched earth and bodies than greenery and bird song."

Anders snorted, and limped forward. "I believe I recognize the spot from your description," he said dryly, then looked up the road anxiously. "There was a closed box there..."

"With a live man in it. Yes, we found it. He was still living when we left in search of you; we left several of the guardsmen there to guard things and look after him."

Anders sighed in relief. "Good. The poor bastard," he added, then turned to look at the two templars. "I assume Bridie is dead?" he asked them.

Antony nodded once. "Yes. There was no choice," he said softly. "Not after she gave in to her demon."

Anders frowned, and turned to stare at Reynard's cooling corpse. " _He_ drove her to it," he said bitterly.

Antony nodded again. "That he did. May Guillaume and I stand up now?" he asked.

"Yes, go ahead," Anders said, flapping one hand dismissively at them while he stood and frowned down at Reynard's body.

The two rose to their feet, Guillaume sheathing his sword once he was upright and had room to move.

"Before we leave, may I retrieve some articles from the Seeker?" Antony asked anxiously.

Anders turned and looked questioningly at the templar. "What sort of articles?" he asked suspiciously.

"Papers... some of which may be of use to yourself or Prince Vael, and some of which are vital to the mission Guillaume and I are on."

"I think I'd want to know what this mission is, _and_ see the papers, before I let you take anything," Anders said firmly. "I have little reason to trust in the good intentions of templars."

Zevran's eyebrows rose. "Allow me," he said gravely, and stepped over to the Seeker's body, crouching down and riffling through his belt pouches – carefully, since one never knew what lethal surprises a man might have tucked away, as any Crow knew all too well. He found enough things that warranted further investigation in it that he unbuckled and removed the entire belt to bring back to camp with them, slinging it over his shoulder before turning and looking questioningly at the two templars. "Was he the sort of man that he might have hidden documents within his armour?"

Antony shook his head. "I do not believe so."

Zevran nodded. "Very well. We should return to camp then. We can deal with the bodies and whatever else may be on them later."

They set out, Anders and the two elves walking at the front, Zevran and Fenris taking it in turn to support the injured mage so he could keep most of his weight off of his leg. The pair of templars followed a short distance behind, surrounded by the guardsmen. It took them almost an hour to get back to the clearing, as Anders needed to stop and rest several times. He was sweating and muttering curses from the pain by the time they reached the clearing.

All the bodies had been cleared away in the hours they'd been gone, Zevran was pleased to notice, a row of fresh graves at one end of the clearing and a neatly arranged campsite at the other proving that the guardsmen they'd left behind had been diligent workers. He helped Anders to take a seat near the small fire, then unwrapped his wound, not liking how pale the mage was looking.

The flesh around the wound was swollen and reddened; infection was already setting in. "Do you have the energy to heal it?" Zevran asked.

"Not yet – not enough," Anders said. "Damn that Seeker... I was about to heal it when the bastard drained me."

Zevran nodded. "Well... should we do for it what we can with regular medicine, or is it better to wait until you have the energy to do a full healing?"

Anders pressed his lips together and frowned down at the angry wound. "Better clean it out as best we can for now," he judged after some thought. "I don't like how fast that's progressing; cleaning it should at least slow down the spread."

Zevran nodded, and soon had water heating, and clean bandages and an elfroot poultice dug out from one of their packs. Fenris, meanwhile, assigned several guards to watch over the two templars, and a pair of the guards to ride back with extra horses and retrieve the bodies of the Seeker and the other templar.

It was clear that any questioning of the remaining templars would have to wait until after they'd cared for Anders.


	130. History Lesson

Anders winced and leaned back against a low pile of saddles and packs that Fenris had arranged as a backrest for him. Cleaning and poulticing the seeping wound in his thigh had been painful, and it was going to continue hurting until he finally regained enough power to heal the damned thing properly. It had been aching before Zevran tended it; now "ache" didn't even begin to describe the pain of the wound. "Burning, stabbing, gut-wrenching pain" came close. He directed a few choice mental curses in the direction of the departed Seeker for not having let him heal it properly as soon as the arrow was removed, and another at the templar who'd put the arrow in his leg in the first place.

One of the guards brought him a plate heaped with an extra-large helping of stew, and some hard rounds of travel bread. He happily accepted the plate and began wolfing down the contents, sighing happily and slowing down only once he'd inhaled half of his serving. Plentiful food, friends and guards close at hand, _free_ again – he was feeling much more relaxed than he had since Bridie had abducted him. Were it not for the hole in his leg and the physical distance between himself and Sebastian, he might even have felt reasonably content.

He noticed Antony and Guillaume collecting plates of food, accompanied by the guards who'd been assigned to watch them. When they turned away from the fire he waved and signalled for them to come over and take seats near him. Zevran and Fenris, seated nearby, quickly moved closer as well.

He shovelled another spoonful of stew in his mouth, chewed and swallowed, then gestured at the pair with his spoon. "So. You were going to explain?" he asked. "I was not aware that mages could be templars. Seems rather counter to the point of templars," he said dryly.

Antony smiled slightly. "In the chantry's view, yes," he said, then his expression turned grim. "You are aware that most templars come from the orphanages the chantry runs, yes?"

Anders nodded. Antony continued. "While informal training may begin as early as age 10, they do not begin formal training as a templar-candidate until age fifteen. Publicly the reason is that by fifteen it is usually apparent if they will grow to sufficient stature to become a good fighter. The real reason is that most mages have acquired their powers by that age. But occasionally there will be a person who successfully hides their power for a time, or someone who, like Guillaume here," he said, reaching out to touch the other man's arm, "does not manifest until some time later. Guillaume was a full templar, a man grown, in his twenties before his own skills finally made themselves known."

Anders frowned. "I would imagine the chantry is less than happy when they discover such."

Antony nodded, expression grim. "You would be correct. Such templar-mages usually meet with a regrettable 'accident' as soon as the chantry discovers their existence. It is one of the many tasks of the Seekers of Truth – to discover and eliminate such mages."

Fenris spoke up. "Yet the pair of you were in company with a Seeker? Why?" he asked.

"He was not aware of Guillaume's powers; if he had been, he would have killed him. As for why we travelled with him... well. It is a long story. Tell me, how much do you know of the history of how the templars came to be a part of the chantry, ruled over by the Seekers?"

Anders blinked. "I was under the impression the Chantry formed the order for their own purposes."

"Non," Guillaume spoke up. "The Templars... we were first. _Before_ chantry. Before Seekers. By Andraste's grace, _pour protéger les mages_." 1

"Even in Andraste's time, under the Imperium, not all mages were bad," Antony continued his explanation. "Some were terrible tyrants, cruel and unyielding masters, blood mages... and some were good people, or even slaves themselves, much as it is in the Tevinter Imperium even to this day."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably, then spoke up. "I have seen such," he agreed softly. "Mages in Tevinter are usually either predators or prey – magisters, magisters-in-training, or the slaves of magisters; there is very little middle ground, apart from skilled healers who are usually safe from predation... as long as they are careful not to offend any of the magisters."

Antony nodded. "Just so. It was the same in Andraste's time. There were those who wanted to fight on her side who were mages; the question arose of how to prevent her forces from being infiltrated by traitorous mages, and how to protect the mages from those were felt that the only answer was to kill _all_ the mages. The answer they came up with was, of necessity, a compromise; mages had to be vouched for by a number of people before they were allowed to join the ranks, and then they had to be accompanied always by guards, who would both monitor what magic they used, and guard them from those who might harm them merely for being mages."

Anders frowned. "Why have I never heard of this before?" he asked.

"For much the same reason the wording of the Chant of Shartan is now largely unknown; the chantry suppressed the knowledge. But they started far earlier with the early history of the templars than they did with the dissonant verses; the knowledge was lost entirely for many centuries."

Zevran spoke up. "So what happened to change the guards into jailors, and the free mages into prisoners?" he asked curiously.

Antony sighed. "A combination of things. For the first few decades after Andraste's death things remained much the same as they had during her campaign against Tevinter; most mages remained free, and many of them continued to have a guard who remained with them to witness and vouch for their behaviour, and provide them protection from any who might seek to harm them for imagined crimes. The chantry as we know it began to form, mainly coalescing around three places; Minrathous, Val Royeaux, and to a much smaller extent around the Temple of Andraste in Ferelden. Much magic was used in the construction of the temple, and the mage guardians based their activities out of it, we now know. The very name 'Order of Templars' harks back to their role as guards of the temple."

A grim look crossed his face. "And then the Orlesian chantry began an order known as the Seekers of Truth; mainly hate-filled vigilantes, who travelled the countryside locating and killing or imprisoning the free mages; they freely used torture in their 'investigations'. It is this period of time that produced chantry laws such as it being an offence punishable by death to help an apostate mage. Even though it had been Maferath, Andraste's husband, who betrayed her to the Imperium, the Seekers and the chantry hierarchy of the time blamed mages for her death. They fanned the flames of hatred, and Orlais took advantage of any unrest they caused as grounds to invade and annex their neighbours. Between their expansionism and the actions of the Inquisition, the Orlesian Chantry and their Seekers were soon at odds with the Order of Templars."

Antony fell silent for a moment, staring down at his empty plate. "We do not know all of what occurred during that time. It was a dark period of history, and much was lost, including the knowledge of the true location of the Temple; Orlais wished to claim the ashes for themselves, but the templars hid the knowledge of the exact location. Eventually there was a great battle; Orlais won. The templars were given a choice; place themselves under the command of the chantry, and be allowed to continue guarding the mages in their charge, or see all mages killed. It was, by the few accounts that have been recovered of that time, a bitter choice. But the templars chose life for their charges, even if it meant a life walled away in great prisons; the Circles of Magi were born."

Antony looked up again. "And the Seekers were placed in authority over the templars. Within two, perhaps three generations they and the chantry had warped the purpose of the templars from being protectors to being jailors; there were few free mages left anywhere that the chantry ruled, and they were declared apostates, and lived in fear of their lives. The templars went from being the proud guards of the Temple of Andraste and the free mages, to being the lyrium-addicted strong arm of the chantry, their early history largely erased, the atrocities committed by the Seekers of Light blamed on _them_."

"How and when was this forgotten history recovered?" Anders asked suspiciously.

"During the Exalted Marches against Tevinter," Antony explained. "The chantry had seen to it that most records of Andraste's time and the early years of the chantry's establishment were destroyed, or... altered, to reflect the view of things that fit the agenda of the Divine in Val Royeaux and Orlesian expansionist interests. However, the Imperium has never had reason to follow the dictates of the Orlesian chantry, even before the two split and they elected their own Divine. Some records remained there. During the marches such came to the attention of a group of templars who were there fulfilling their original function; escorting mages on the battlefield."

He gave Anders a crooked smile. "The chantry has never been shy about using the powers of the mages when it benefits their particular goals. Anyway, as can happen in battle, a level of camaraderie had grown between the templars and their charges. So when they happened across some writings about the original role of the templar in the library of a magister who'd had a great interest in history... well, they were ripe for the realization that the chantry had been perverting their purpose for centuries. Especially since they had fallen out of contact with their supply lines and a number of the templars were suffering from lyrium withdrawal. More, they had noticed that many of them were still perfectly capable of using their templar powers even _without_ lyrium; they realized that the story that we require lyrium to operate was a lie."

He frowned. "That group became the core of what I suppose can be termed the _templar underground_. A secret group within the Order of Templars dedicated to freeing templars and mages both from the oversight of the chantry. It has, of course, been a very slow and laborious process; there were several false starts, and on at least two occasions that we know of the Seekers became aware of the existence of branches of the underground; in both cases they killed or imprisoned everyone involved. But the underground has slowly spread and grown. And we had a particularly great boost during the Year of the Blight, which has brought us much closer to being able to accomplish our goal."

"The Temple of Andraste!" Zevran exclaimed suddenly, sitting upright. "There were many books there – I remember Wynne wishing we had the time to stop so she might read them. I know the chantry later sent an expedition to attempt to recover the ashes?" he added, looking questioningly at the templars.

Antony gave Zevran a startled look. "You were there...? Ah, of course! I should have recognized you from the descriptions... the tattoos are mentioned. You were one of the blight companions?"

Zevran grinned. "Indeed."

Antony nodded, and gave a small salute to the elf. "You are blessed to have seen Andraste's true resting place," he said. "And yes, the chantry sent an expedition to try and recover the ashes. They failed; they found the outer temple, but the routes to the inner temple at the top of the mountain have all been closed; some have filled with ice, others have collapsed entirely. Still, the outer temple itself is a place of great wonder, filled with fallen beauty and forgotten lore. Luckily the underground learned of the expedition in time to stack the deck; almost all the members of the expedition were part of the underground. Much written lore was recovered, filling in things we had not known, or had only guessed at. Including early versions of the chant that include the Dissonant Verses, and even some transcriptions of Andraste's own words; it is clear from them that the current form of the chantry, with their suppression of the mages and intolerance of the Dalish, would have been nearly as anathema to her as the Tevinter Imperium itself was."

"With these records, we have won many additional converts. We have also gathered true copies of the Accords of Nevarra, which include the terms under which the templars surrendered to the rule of the chantry; it is clear from them that the chantry has been breaking the terms for centuries."

Anders blinked several times. "Are you saying that the templars are prepared to split with the chantry?" he asked.

Antony nodded. "Oui. Oh, there are a last few holdouts to try to convince before we go ahead and make the move, but we have people in many of the highest positions within the templar hierarchy. This leads to why the pair of us were accompanying Seeker Reynard; he stands high within both their organization, and the Divine's favour. We are aware of some of the goals the Divine has in regards to uniting Thedas under chantry control, beginning with the Free Marches; we have been seeking written evidence of such, but she is a canny woman and most of the business related to it is conducted only verbally, and mainly through intermediaries who can be... disavowed, if it proves necessary."

"Like Grand Cleric Odile's approach to Prince Sebastian," Anders said grimly. "A vocal offer, leaving him with no way to prove such an offer was ever extended to him."

Antony nodded. "Exactly. However, there are some things that must be written down; anyone who did agree to the Divine's plans would likely require more evidence than just a verbal agreement before continuing. We knew that Seeker Reynard was often used as a courier by the Divine, and knowing that he was being sent here at the same time as the Grand Cleric – though independently, ostensibly only with the purpose of arresting yourself," he nodded to Anders. "Well, we suspected he might in fact have two missions and that he was being used as a courier for such documents. So the Knight-Vigilant included one of his most trusted men among those provided to accompany the Seeker in his mission here."

"You?" Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Antony replied, and grinned. "Oh, he trusts me quite well also, otherwise he'd never have allowed me to accompany his brother Guillaume here," and gestured at the larger templar.

Guillaume grinned at their obvious surprise.

"The _Knight-Vigilant's_ brother is a mage!" Anders gasped. "Maker's tits...!"

Guillaume's grin widened. "Oui. We are twins – not identical. Me, I have magic. Rémi, he does not. And he is not so big. And he is," he paused, waved one hand near his head, and looked questioningly at Antony.

"Blonder," the younger man supplied, then smiled. "And more heavily bearded. Anyway, Reynard could hardly refuse to bring Guillaume along, even if he didn't like it, and he was busy enough keeping a suspicious eye on Guillaume to completely ignore _me_. Not being aware that the two of us are a team."

Guillaume nodded. "Oui. Antony, he look so young – people ignore him. He and I, we make a good pair," he said fondly, and reached over to ruffle Antony's hair, drawing a tolerant smile from the youth.

"So what is your mission, then? Recovering whatever papers Reynard carries?"

Antony nodded. "If possible, yes. Especially any evidence about the Divine's goals in regards to gaining secular power," he said, and his expression turned grim. "The Knight-Vigilant will not tolerate another Knight-Commander Meredith on his watch, nor any similar grab for civil authority from elsewhere in the chantry. Nor will he allow the chantry to use the templars, or the mages in their charge, in any war of expansionist aggression. He is prepared to remove the templars from chantry control the moment we have sure evidence from documents or deeds that the Divine has such intentions. Even if such evidence is not produced, we of the underground are determined to force such a split within the year; the evidence would just make it that much harder for the chantry to rally any secular support against such a move on our part. We will at the minimum remove from chantry oversight all those templars are willing to still acknowledge the Knight-Vigilant's authority once he has done so, and all areas they control."

"And how many is that?" Anders asked.

Antony shrugged. "Only time will tell the exact numbers, but I can tell you that the majority of Knight-Commanders he has assigned since taking office are members of the underground, as are many other templars in key positions throughout Thedas. Most of the circles still remaining in Thedas will follow his lead."

His expression hardened momentarily. "This is a goal we have been working towards for centuries. We _will not_ let it pass by, now that we are finally in a position to accomplish it. The intolerable things done to mages and templars alike in the name of _controlling magic_ must come to an end."

"You'll get no argument from _me_ on that point," Anders said firmly.

"Nor me," Fenris said softly, winning him a warm smile from the healer.

"Well. I suppose we should search through all of Seeker Reynard's belongings in search of useful evidence, then," Zevran said, then frowned at Anders, who was looking pale and sweaty again. "But first, I suspect it may be time to tend to Anders' wound again. Are you able to heal yourself yet?"

"I think so," Anders said. "Better to get it done sooner than later. At least we didn't need to get Fenris to remove this one; that's an experience I can happily live without ever repeating."

* * *

**1 – To protect the mages.**


	131. A Rescue

Sebastian leaned back in his chair and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He had barely slept at all since Anders' disappearance three days before, too worried over the mage's fate to rest. When he did sleep, his dreams – nightmares, really – frequently contained all-too-graphic images of what Anders might be undergoing. What was worst of all was that he couldn't even tell himself that they were just nightmares, unreal imaginings – he knew enough by now to know just how terrible were the things sometimes done to mages in the name of control and punishment, or merely because their tormentor _could_.

He was, he knew, doing a very poor job of covering up just how upset he was over Anders' abduction. Part of him knew he should be trying to do a better job, that he might come to regret this lapse later, once Anders returned... and part of him just couldn't care about hiding his feelings that absolutely, not when the mage night be lost to him forever.

Even the children had noticed the difference in his demeanour. He smiled sadly, remembering how he'd had them come to his apartment and join him for lunch today. Afterwards, they had sat around on the floor playing with Tighe, watched over by Ganwyn and Haelioni, the two dogs lying down quietly and watching rather than taking part in their play.

Ewan had sat up after a while, looking over at the two hounds. "I think the dogs are sad," he said. "They must miss Anders. When is he coming back?"

"I don't know," Sebastian answered, unable to quite keep his own emotions out of his voice. "Zevran and Fenris have gone to find him and bring him home, but we're not sure where he's gone." Gone; not taken. He didn't want to enter the morass of trying to explain to the children what had happened to one of their favourite people.

"Do you miss Anders too?" Niawen asked, looking at Sebastian curiously.

"Yes, I miss Anders too," Sebastian answered softly.

Meridwen must have noticed his distress at the children's questions; she quickly diverted them to a less sensitive subject, and a short time later declared it was time for them to return to Ewan's room and their lessons.

After the children left he'd had to retire to his bedroom for a while to regain his composure. Even that had been painful, seeing the bed they'd shared so few times, but with such great tenderness and love. Eventually he'd pulled himself back together, returned to his study and the pile of work waiting him, tried to lose himself in the routine of reading and signing, occasionally reading and putting aside for further thought, or to write a reply to later. But it was a poor distraction. Even the purring of Ashes, curled up on the corner of the desk, could not soothe him; if anything, it reminded him all the more of the man who wasn't there. Every time he looked up from his work and saw the chair in the corner where Anders had so often sat and read while Sebastian worked, it sent a pang through him.

He welcomed the interruption when a guard knocked and entered, informing him that Dugall was at the door, asking to speak with him for a moment. "Send him in," he replied with a smile. The guard nodded and went back to his post.

Dugall walked in a couple of minutes later, looking ill-at-ease. "Prince Vael," he said, and produced a folded scrap of parchment, holding it out. "This came to Sister Maura today... from the Revered Mother."

Sebastian straightened up abruptly, and rose to accept the paper from the other man's hand, breaking the bit of wax sealing it shut and unfolding it, quickly scanning the few words scribbled inside. His expression darkened. He handed it back to Dugall. The man gave him a startled look. "Read it," he said grimly. "I will need witnesses to this."

Dugall looked down at the scrap of parchment, lips moving as he read it.

_I require a rescue._

_This situation has become intolerable._

Dugall looked back up at the prince. "What will you do, m'Lord?" he asked anxiously.

"What I have been asked. Go back to the clinic and fetch Sister Maura; tell her that her knowledge of healing may be required, have her pack a bag of supplies. Bring her here... no, wait, bring her to the throne room. There are others I will need for this."

He followed Dugall to the door of his apartments, and sent one guard racing to fetch Guard-Captain Cerin, another off to summon several liveried servants to act as messengers for him. He paced back and forth in his sitting room, mind racing as he decided whom he would need for this, either as help, or as witnesses. Eventually the Guard-Captain arrived, shepherding the requested servants into the sitting room.

"I have vital messages for several people," he told the messengers. "Their presence is requested and required in the throne room of the castle within the hour." He quickly sent them off, summoning together the templars from the scriptorium, and the ones guarding the mages who were helping in the construction of the new quarter, along with several of his key noblemen – including two who he knew had little liking for he himself, but good reputations for honesty – three of the most-respected guildmasters, and a pair of representatives from among the refugees, one each from Ansburg and Tantervale.

Only after they had been dispatched did he outline to Cerin what he proposed to do as soon as the people requested could be assembled. The Guard-Captain nodded, asked a few questions, and hurried off to assemble a suitable force of his own men for the venture. Sebastian quickly bathed, and changed into his armour. By the time he headed down to the throne room, he looked every inch a Prince.

The people gathered in the throne room were standing around in groups; the templars standing quietly, the nobles and guildmasters talking quietly together, looking puzzled, the others standing scattered about the room. They all fell silent as Sebastian entered and walked over to stand near his throne.

"Thank you all for coming," Sebastian said. "I am afraid I cannot tell most of you why I have summoned you today, other than that I require your presence as impartial witnesses. I ask only that you accompany me and pay attention to events. Thank you," he said, then turned to face the group of templars. "Will the senior templar present please approach the throne. Guard-Captain Cerin, to me as well."

There was a brief muttering among the templars, then one walked forward to join him and Cerin. He quickly explained to the man – who proved to be one of Knight-Commander Lawrence's captains, sent to oversee the templars guarding the mages at the construction site – about what little he knew of the Revered Mother's situation, and showed him the note he had received. Knight-Captain Thomas asked to speak with Sister Maura, and confirmed from her that, to the best of her knowledge and belief it had indeed come from the Revered Mother's hand, then nodded acceptance of Sebastian's plan to mount a rescue.

The Knight-Captain and the Guard-Captain both returned to their men, and when Sebastian marched out of the throne room a few minutes later, it was with them following behind. His selected witnesses accompanied him as well, grouped between himself and the two armed forces. He led the way out of the castle, and down the hill to the chantry.

He stopped within the nave, and called over one of the priests on duty there. "Could you please send word to the Revered Mother that I am sorry to disturb her on such short notice, but that I have discovered a matter that requires her immediate attention," he said, voice carrying to be sure all within the room – both those attending on him, and those there for their own reasons – could hear clearly what was said.

The priest looked startled, but dipped her head and hurried off. Sebastian stood and waited patiently; whatever it was that Grand-Cleric Odile's followers were up to, he doubted they could refuse to have the Revered Mother grant him an audience after such a publicly delivered summons. Sure enough, another priest soon returned, who nervously explained that the Revered Mother would be down to speak with him shortly. Sebastian nodded, and continued waiting.

A small force of templars entered the room, moving to stand to either side of the door, then the Revered Mother entered, accompanied by a group of priests; all but one of them Odile's people, he was sure. She walked forward calmly. Had he not been watching for it, he might have missed the stiffness in her carriage, the slight glaze to her eyes. In pain, and drugged so that she could ignore it enough to function, he suspected.

"Revered Mother Glynis," he said, bowing formally to her.

"Prince Vael," she said, dipping her own head in response. "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

"I received a note a short while ago," he said, and saw her expression change, just faintly. "I thought it best I came and asked your opinion of the news contained in it," he said, drawing the scrap of parchment out of a belt pouch.

One of the priests stepped forward, as if to intercept the paper. Sebastian closed his hand around it, giving the woman a cold look. She glanced around, taking in the number of curious witnesses, then flushed and eased back into place. All of the priests were looking tense now. He held out his hand again, and Glynis stepped forward to take the piece of parchment.

Immediately he grabbed her hand and stepped backwards, yanking her away from the priests accompanying her, catching and supporting her as his sudden move pulled her off balance. The dagger in the right hand of the priest who had been standing behind and to her left was clearly visible; several of his gathered witnesses gasped or exclaimed in surprise, either at his sudden move, or because they'd seen the weapon and likely realized that Glynis had been under threat.

Sebastian quickly stepped between the Revered Mother and the priests, his guards moving forward to shield her and his witnesses from Odile's people. "Knight-Captain Thomas!" Sebastian snapped out. "I call on you and Sister Maura to examine the Revered Mother and ascertain her condition, before these gathered witnesses. Further, I ask you to take custody of these priests until such time as this examination is complete."

The templars that had accompanied them moved forward, quickly surrounding the priests, disarming the one with the knife. The templars over by the door looked uncertain if they should intervene or not – one slipped out and hurried off, presumably to seek their own captain for advice.

Sebastian turned and watched as impassively as he could while the Revered Mother co-operated with the examination. She looked well enough at first, but once her heavy over-robe was removed, she pushed back the lighter sleeves of her underrobe, silently displaying the bruises there. By the time she was down to her shift, the witnesses had gone from looking uncomfortable at her being disrobed, to being indignant and angry over the marks of abuse clear on her arms and legs. Glynis held her own head up throughout the procedure, silent and dignified even in a state of undress.

"I believe that is enough," Sebastian said formally. "Unless there are other marks you believe we should see, your Reverence?"

Glynis nodded, and turned her back, speaking softly to Maura. The woman lifted the back of her shift; showing additional marks there – she'd been beaten with a cane or similar object at some point, the marks of it still clear on her back. She turned back, and with Maura's help drew back on her over-robe, resuming some degree of modesty.

"Who has done this to you, and why?" demanded one of the nobles, directing a suspicious glare at teh priests being held nearby.

"It was done at the orders of Grand Cleric Odile," she answered. "She knew I was unwilling to co-operate with certain plans of the Divine, and hoped to persuade me otherwise."

"Plans? What plans are these?" another asked sharply.

"Among other things, the conquest of the Free Marches," Glynis responded. "Not in the name of Orlais – the Divine was intelligent enough to know that the Marches would never easily submit to Orlesian rule. Instead they made an offer to Prince Vael, that they would help him become King of the Free Marches, in return for his obedience to the Divine and assistance in her plans to also conquer Antiva, Rivani and Ferelden, followed by a concerted attack on either Tevinter or the Qunari."

"The chantry made no such offer!" exclaimed one of the priests, angrily. "I do not believe you produce even one shred of evidence..."

"Of _course_ there is no hard evidence!" Glynis snapped. "It is so _easy_ to deny something that has only been discussed verbally, is it not? So there is no evidence – no evidence but the word of Prince Vael that such an offer was made," he nodded his head in agreement, "And my own statement, that I am prepared to swear before Andraste and these witnesses, that I was present when such an offer was made, and also present when it was _refused,_ " she added sharply, drawing herself up, before turning to look at Sebastian.

"Prince Vael, I thank you for this timely rescue. I had of late begun to fear for my life, yet was powerless to protect myself from these... _people_... that the Grand Cleric left to oversee me."

Sebastian bowed to her. "I am pleased to have been of assistance to you, your Reverence. And now, since it is not the role of secular authority to police the religious hierarchy, I will step aside. Though I do offer you the temporary assistance of my own guards under Guard-Captain Cerin if these templars who have accompanied me here are not sufficient for whatever you wish to do now that you are not under the control of these priests."

"My thanks, Prince Vael," she said. "I believe the templars will suffice," she added, running her eye over the number gathered there. "But I would ask you to remain here with your guards and these witnesses, to ensure that all is done here as openly as possible, and that there are reputable witnesses for anything done."

Sebastian gave her a shallow bow to acknowledge acceptance of her request, then stepped back to stand near the witnesses instead of at the front. His guards dropped back as well, while Knight-Captain Thomas moved to her side. She quickly ran off a series of orders.

When the Knight-Captain that Odile had left in charge of the templars here at the chantry hurried into the room some minutes later, he had little chance to protest before he found himself being taken into custody. A number of his men were also taken prisoner. The rest seemed quite pleased to find themselves being given into Knight-Captain Thomas' command, and in a very short time the entire population of the chantry was being summoned to the nave, and separated into three groups – Odile's people, those Glynis trusted, and those she did not know whether or not to trust.

Glynis once more removed her robe, holding out her arms and turning around so that all might see what had been done to her, then in unequivocal terms spoke of all that had happened to her since Grand-Cleric Odile's arrival in Starkhaven.

"I no longer find myself able to accept the authority of either Grand-Cleric Odile, or of the current Divine," she finished. "Not when they could countenance, even instigate, such unwarranted treatment of an anointed member of the chantry. I will be sending a letter to the Divine, as well as copies to other Grand Clerics and the Revered Mothers at larger chantries throughout Thedas, outlining what has occurred here and my reaction to it."

The senior priest of those Odile had left behind pushed forward to the front of the group. "You stand in rebellion to the chantry!" she exclaimed, all but stamping her foot on the floor in indignation.

Glynis drew herself up and turned a cold look on the woman. "No. I stand in rebellion to a Divine who would warp the chantry into an instrument of subjugation in pursuit of her own goals. I remain true to the chantry itself, and to the faith of Andraste."

"Well said," one of the guildmasters muttered approvingly.

It took some time for the Revered Mother to begin to put her house in order; it was late evening before she was finally satisfied that all of Odile's partisans had been rounded up, her own trusted people put back into key positions. By then whatever painkiller she'd been given had worn out, and she was clearly in some distress; she thanked Sebastian and the witnesses, and retired to her rooms with Sister Maura and several trustworthy guards in attendance on her.

Sebastian also thanked the witnesses, before returning to the castle with his guards. There would still be loose ends to wrap up over the next few days – such as what to do with the templars and priests that had been detained. For now they were under guard, but a more long-term solution would need to be found. Perhaps shipping them off to Tantervale to rejoin Odile would suffice. That, of course, was Glynis' decision to make, he reminded himself.

As tired as he was when he retired that night, he still found himself unable to sleep for some hours, tossing and turning until exhaustion finally won out over fear-filled thoughts to plunge him into another night of uneasy sleep and dark dreams.


	132. Division of Spoils

Anders sighed in relief, and straightened up, flexing his hands a little as he craned to look at the faint puckered mark near the back of his thigh that was all that remained of the arrow wound. It had been a nasty job to clean out the infection, little threads and pockets of it having spread for some distance through the flesh surrounding the original wound. But it was done now, clean and healthy flesh from skin down to bone.

He looked around. "Well. I suppose I should check on my patient," he said, and rose to his feet, then walked over to where the box was, off to one side. Phillipe was still in it, though he'd been unstrapped from the restraints and the guards had tucked extra blankets from their bedrolls around him to make him more comfortable. He was awake, his eyes open, but he seemed unaware of his surroundings; when Anders bent down beside the box to examine him he didn't even glance Anders' way. Anders frowned, and felt his pulse at several points, then spent what power he had left after fixing his own leg in doing further healing on the man.

He stood and watched Phillipe for several minutes, then walked over to where the two elves sat together, talking quietly. "Zevran – do you still have that poison you used to put me to sleep?" he asked.

"Of course," the assassin said, glancing over at the box, then looking questioningly up at him. "You are thinking of drugging him?" he asked softly.

Anders nodded. "Yes. I don't have enough energy to put sleep on him, and... I think he needs to."

Zevran nodded, and rose to walk over and take a look at Phillipe himself, crouching down beside the box to, as Anders had, check several pulse points and the man's reaction to being handled. He frowned and nodded at the end. "I think you are right," he said, and dug in his belt pouches, producing the tiny vial Anders remembered from their mid-winter reunion. "One or two drops?" he asked.

"Two. I should have enough energy to do further healing and control his sleep myself by morning."

Zevran nodded, and carefully administered the poison. Phillipe reacted not at all to the tiny cut, and a few second later closed his eyes and went lax, breathing slowing in sleep.

"Will he be all right?" Fenris asked, having walked over to join them.

"Physically, yes," Anders said. "He hasn't suffered any damage that I can't repair, given time. Mentally...I don't know," he said, and turned to look at Antony and Guillaume, his expression hardening somewhat. "How long was he being tormented by Reynard?" he asked them.

Antony frowned, and shook his head. "I do not know. At the time I was added to his company, he did not have the pair with him, but as we left Orlais to come east, we stopped in a small town... they were there, already in the hands of two of Reynard's templars. Both had clearly been abused; long enough ago that Bridie's bruises were fading. Phillipe had fresh bruises; it was obvious he was being used to control her, punished to control her behaviour."

"And you did nothing about this?" Fenris asked sharply.

Antony turned and looked at him. "I could do nothing; as the junior templar of the group, and someone new to the Seeker, I had no influence with him. Guillaume made his disgust known, as he had the protection of his position as the Knight-Vigilant's brother. The Seeker did not care; they consider themselves above the Knight-Vigilant in hierarchy, and chantry law is that anyone aiding an apostate may be killed; some would argue it was a mercy he was even still alive," he said, his disgust with that idea clear in his voice. He looked over at the sleeping Phillipe. "It is to _end_ atrocities such as this that we work. No one should have to fear being beaten, abused, even killed because of whom they fall in love with, who and what their parent or sibling or child is."

Anders nodded. "I can agree with that sentiment, even if I wish there was something you could have done."

Antony shook his head slightly. "Not without jeopardizing our mission. Having to stand by and pretend indifference when someone was so mistreated... I could only pray that we would succeed, that in the end it will have been worth it, to bring freedom to others like himself and Bridie. Though I doubt _he_ will ever think so," he added, nodding toward the sleeping Phillipe. "He has paid too great a price."

That was something they could all agree with.

* * *

Zevran sat down cross-legged on the ground, a large pile of belongings stripped from the dead templars before their burial on one side of him – belt pouches, back packs and the like. He picked up the first, closest item, and quickly went through it, picking out and putting aside anything of potential interest – papers, potions and poison, small valuables – checked it for any hidden compartments, then tossed it aside and picked up the next. He worked quickly and efficiently; this was a task he'd done many times before in the Crows.

Antony and Guillaume sat nearby, watching him work. As promised, Anders and his friends were going to have the first look at any evidence that was found. How such evidence would be apportioned between the two parties would then have to be determined – Zevran hoped there would be enough that they could both walk away with some choice bits.

Anders was seated nearby as well, eating a second plate of stew to help replenish his energy and strength, watching curiously while Zevran worked. He paused and frowned, suddenly. "Has word been sent to Sebastian yet? That you've rescued me?"

"Yes," Fenris answered. "I sent a guard back to Starkhaven right after we got back here, with extra remounts; depending on how hard he pushes, he might make it back to Starkhaven late tomorrow night, though some time the next morning is more likely."

Anders nodded, looking relieved. "Good. I suppose it will take us a day or two longer to get back – especially since we'll have Phillipe with us... how are we going to get him back," he added, frowning. "I don't like the idea of keeping him in that box..."

"I also sent a guard off to locate any nearby farms or inns, and hire a waggon," Fenris said calmly. "Hopefully he will return by morning. If not we can try to rig some sort of horse-litter, perhaps."

Anders snorted, then smiled at the elf. "You're very well-organized."

Fenris smiled slightly. "I try."

Zevran eventually had reduced the large pile to a much smaller pile, and everyone gathered around and looked over what they had. Much of it proved of little to no value – a half-written letter from one of the templars to a sweetheart in Orlais, a bill for repairs to a dented vambrace, similar miscellany – but among the things he'd removed from the Seeker's belonging they hit at least a small jackpot of potentially incriminating papers.

Reynard had indeed been serving as a courier for the Divine – and not only did he have a packet of papers that he would have given to Odile if Sebastian agreed to become part of the chantry's plans, he also carried a letter from Odile to the Divine. The woman had been foolish enough to commit to paper the news that Sebastian had refused to co-operate, and some suggestions for how to deal with him and possibly extort him into changing his mind, especially since they planned to have Anders in their hands, and she suspected his relationship with the mage was closer than merely jailor and prisoner. Other suggestions were equally foul, including such ideas as eliminating him – delicately phrased, of course – and making Ewan a ward of the chantry until such time as the boy was of age to take his throne, and a very vaguely worded allusion to 'the Seeker's mage, who might succeed in changing his mind if pressed to do so'.

Fenris was glowering, Zevran looking particularly inscrutable, and Anders half-sickened by the time they'd finished reading the entire letter.

"We will wish this piece in particular," Zevran said flatly. "Sebastian can use this."

Antony and Guillaume nodded swift agreement, Guillaume having been reading over Antony's shoulder as the younger templar translated the letter aloud. Most of the other evidence they found they were willing to let the two templars have. The division of it went surprisingly quickly, and overall quite amicably, both sides having compatible goals; the downfall of the chantry's plans.

Afterwards there just remained the valuables to divide up. Antony and Guillaume quickly swore off any interest in them, apart from things whose ownership wasn't traceable, like the coin their erstwhile compatriots had been carrying, which would be of use to them in getting back to Orlais so that they might report to Knight-Vigilant Rémi.

Zevran handed them the coin, and put the remaining valuables into a large pouch; he'd see them sold, he announced, and the resultant coin split among the guards. Which won smiles from many of them; it had been a long, hard journey to catch up with and rescue Anders, and receiving a bonus for it was something they appreciated.

By then it was late, and dark. They had several days of riding ahead of them to return to the city; Fenris assigned guards to keep watch overnight, and everyone else spread out bedrolls and began to settle in for the night. Anders went over and checked on Phillipe again first. No change in the man, not that he'd expected any. He turned away to find Zevran walking over to him. The assassin held out one hand. "Here. I believe this is yours," he said.

Anders blinked down at the small glass vial in his hand, then nodded. "I suppose it is," he agreed, and lifted it from Zevran's hand, holding it up for a closer look. He could feel a faint sensation as he held it, like a subtle buzz; the magic linking him and it, he supposed. The odd hum he'd noticed earlier was gone; he supposed it was some side effect of whatever magic the templars used to activate the phylactery and track him.

Zevran started to turn away, then looked back at him. "What will you do with it?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know. Destroy it, I suppose," he said. He stood there a long moment, staring at the vial. So small and simple an item to represent such a terrible thing, the leash the chantry held on every mage they got their hands on. He closed his hand tightly around it for a moment, tempted to just dash it against the ground and be done with it, then paused. Perhaps...

He put it in one of his belt pouches, wrapped in a scrap of cloth, and went to find a bedroll for himself from among the belongings of the dead templars.


	133. Homecoming

The Revered Mother had come to lunch. An informal visit; she left all of her entourage outside Sebastian's suite, save for Sister Maura and Knight-Captain Thomas, whom she had taken a great liking to. She had decided to make Thomas the commander of her own guard, she informed Sebastian, her previous Knight-Commander having been forcibly retired and sent off to one of the retreats for senior Templars in Orlais by Odile in the woman's brief tenure here. He had been years yet from actually needing to retire, but Glynis very much doubted she'd be able to pry him back from the Orlesian chantry, much to her regret.

"As soon as I hear back from Knight-Commander Lawrence that he is willing to release Thomas from his service to mine, it shall be done," she explained to Sebastian, then smiled at Thomas, who was looking a little flustered at finding himself dining in Sebastian's private apartment with the Prince and the Revered Mother, and his future discussed so easily. "Do not blush so, young man. You did very well for me over the last few days; such service deserves reward."

"Perhaps, but it is still a very sudden change for me; I was a mere Knight-Corporal before the fall of Ansburg, and made a Knight-Lieutenant on the journey here. It was only because there was already a Knight-Lieutenant among the Templars in the Scriptorium, and Knight-Commander Lawrence wished the seniority between us kept clear, that I was raised to Captain. I cannot help but feel that there must be more senior Templars who would be better suited for the position. Especially among those who have been serving you here in Starkhaven for some time," he pointed out.

"Mmm, possibly true, but there are other reasons for me to wish a young man in the position," she said, and paused to sip from her tea. "The older a templar is, the more likely he is to be heavily addicted to lyrium. I have little doubt that one of the first steps the Orlesian chantry will take to try to bring rebellious branches of the church into line will be to cut off their supply of lyrium. I fear many of my senior templars will be left with little choice; they will either have to return Orlais and submit themselves to control of the chantry there, or go through withdrawal, and its high risk of madness. You, on the other hand, are young enough that you can likely discontinue lyrium usage with few ill effects."

Thomas nodded soberly. "I have in fact already done so. Knight-Commander Lawrence has encouraged all of us who can to diminish or end our usage of the substance. It was... difficult, at first, and there are still times when I find myself craving it, but I would rather not be a slave to an addiction, with no choice but to obey those who supply it. But surely you have other young templars within your own organization who could do the same?"

"Likely I do, but I think my senior templars will be less put out by a stranger being raised to Commander over them than they would be if I raised up one of their own juniors; that you have already proven yourself well enough for your Knight-Commander to raise you to Captain also speaks well for your competency. No, Knight-Captain Thomas, I will have you for Commander of my men; there is no one else who suits the needs of the position well enough. Best get yourself accustomed to the idea," she added with a warm smile.

Thomas smiled and gave in gracefully to the Revered Mother's determination. Glynis turned her attention from him back to Sebastian, cocking her head to one side as she looked thoughtfully at him. "You are looking much better today than you did when we spoke yesterday," she abruptly said.

Sebastian found himself flushing in embarrassment. She'd remarked the day before on how haggard he was looking, and he'd told her about Anders' abduction, and explained his tired appearance as worry for the friends who'd gone in pursuit of him. By the sharp look she'd given him then, he had little doubt that she'd guessed his worry was for rather more personnel reasons that just worry over the safety of his elven friends. "There was word awaiting me when I returned to the castle yesterday; just a brief note from Fenris, that he and Zevran had recovered the mage. They are all three safe, and should be back here in another day or two, perhaps less; the messenger was delayed on the road by sickness, or he'd have been here the day before, he says."

Glynis smiled warmly at him. "That _is_ good news," she said warmly. "I am quite impressed with what I have heard from some of my more trusted servants about this Zevran," she added. "After he returns I must think of a suitable reward for his assistance during the recent difficulties."

Sebastian smiled. "As must I – and I must think of something for my friend Fenris as well. Perhaps I should take a page from King Alistair of Ferelden, and make Fenris a minor noble of Starkhaven. It would be a suitable reward for the number of times he has saved my life or my honour, and ensure that he had reason to remain in Starkhaven. Or at least to visit regularly."

Glynis raised an eyebrow. "You think he would leave? But surely he is in a very good situation here."

Sebastian frowned and shrugged. "I do not know for sure. But he and Zevran have become very close during the elf's visit here. If Bann Zevran returns to Ferelden, I suspect Fenris would wish to go with him; it is only friendship with myself and the mage that kept him here, that and not having any other destination he particularly wanted to go to. Also, he is too proud to live on my charity, and there is little useful work I can give him."

"I see," said Glynis. "Well, it would certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons for you to make him a noble, however minor. Though I do not think that is necessarily a _bad_ thing," she added, eyes twinkling.

"I am personally of the firm belief that my nobles could use a regular shaking up," Sebastian answered, smiling as well. "To prevent them from becoming too set in their ways, if nothing else. This is a time of great change in Thedas; they must learn to change along with the times. To be flexible, not rigid."

Glynis nodded. They turned to lighter subjects after that; the meal ended up being very lengthy – it was mid-afternoon before Glynis regretfully announced that she'd best be getting back to the chantry.

"I'll be shipping Odile's partisans off upriver tomorrow morning," she told Sebastian as he escorted her and her entourage back downstairs. "Odile can do with them as she wishes. I regret that I am unlikely to be able to recover my own people from her clutches; she will doubtless see them scattered to other institutions rather than returned here. Would you like to join me at the docks to see them off?"

"Certainly," Sebastian agreed. "I will be glad to see the last of them. Though not as glad as you yourself are, I suspect."

Glynis' lips twitched in an amused smile. "Far from it, most likely," she agreed. "My grievance with them and the Grand Cleric being of necessity so much more personal."

Sebastian nodded. They'd reached the courtyard by then. Time for formal farewells. They smiled warmly at each other as they worked their way through the rote phrases, somehow both amused by the knowledge that the formal words of respect they voiced were actually deeply meant, not the mere surface politeness they might otherwise be.

As Sebastian bowed in farewell to the Revered Mother, there was a disturbance at the gate. He turned to look, and froze, recognizing the tired men, his own guards, riding in through the gate. The two elves rode at the front, a third figure on horseback just in front of them; he had eyes only for him, for Anders, riding back in through the castle gates.

He was not even aware of saying the man's name, of breaking away from his farewells with the Revered Mother to push past the people between him and the mage, only barely restraining himself from breaking into a run as he strode quickly toward the group. He watched Anders look around, see the crowd, see _him_ , the expression that lighted his face. The mage reined to a stop, and then Sebastian was by his horse.

" _Anders_ ," he choked out, his hand closing around the other man's ankle in a tight grip. "You're back."

"Yes," Anders agreed, his own voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm back."

"Anders..." he said again, and shook his head, unable for a moment to speak. He gave up on words, and reached up, taking the mage's hand in his and squeezing it tightly.

"I am pleased to see you returned safely, Anders," the Revered Mother said, having followed him over. "I was distressed to learn from Sebastian of your abduction."

Sebastian started, and blushed, realizing how rudely he'd left her side. "My apologies, your Reverence," he said, turning to look at her.

She made a dismissive gesture, then smiled at first him, then Anders. "No apologies necessary, Prince Vael. I know you have been worried over your friends' absence," she added, smiling at Zevran and Fenris as well. "I will take my leave, so that you may continue your reunion," she said.

"Your Reverence, you may wish to stay," Anders spoke up, then glanced over at Zevran, who nodded encouragement at him. "We have recovered documents that were being carried by the foreign templars who abducted me, and you should likely see them."

"Foreign templars?" Glynis said sharply, then nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should remain after all, then."

"This would best be discussed in privacy," Zevran pointed out quietly.

"We shall return to my rooms, then," Sebastian said firmly.

"We may require some few of these men to give corroborating evidence," Fenris said, gesturing at the guards that had accompanied them, then nodded to a waggon behind them. "And we have a wounded man that will require care."

"Care, and a close watch," Anders spoke up. "I would prefer to... ah, Sister Maura," he exclaimed, smiling as he saw the apothecary among those in Glynis' train. "I could use your help with him," he said. It was only when Anders pulled his hand away from Sebastian's so he could dismount that Sebastian realized he'd been holding tightly to it all this time. He blushed again, then covered his confusion with quick compliments to the guards for their work over the last week, and promises of reward, before sending them off to be fed and brought drink in rooms close to his own, so they would be at hand if needed for delivering evidence.

Other guards were summoned, to see the wounded man off to the clinic and kept under watch, Sister Maura heading off with them to see him settled in, then the rest of them returned indoors, and went back upstairs to Sebastian's apartment.

* * *

It had been a very long day; up before dawn to prepare to set out again, on their third day of travel back to Starkhaven, their journey slowed by the waggon with Phillipe and all the salvage from the dead templars in it, the armour and weapons bundled away out of sight in sacks along both side of the waggon, Phillipe in a well-padded bed of straw in the middle. Apart from when he was roused to eat or make his toilet, Anders mainly kept the man in a deep sleep, hoping that prolonged rest would enable the man to recover from what had been done to him; not just physically, but mentally as well.

He'd been tired when they reached the castle, but the sight of Sebastian, there in the courtyard, had driven all exhaustion away, revitalizing him. He couldn't look away, as the Prince pushed his way through the group of people between them, and strode over. He wasn't even aware of stopping his horse until Sebastian was there, at his side, looking up at him. And the _look_ in his eyes, as he reached out and closed his hand around Anders' ankle... it took Anders' breath away.

" _Anders_ ," he said, voice on the edge of breaking. "You're back."

Such simple words, and yet they conveyed so much to him. So much welcome and _relief_ in three single words and a firm touch.

"Yes, I'm back," he agreed; not the three words he most wanted to say, but what he could say, in front of witnesses as they were.

"Anders..." Sebastian said again, then removed his hand from Anders' ankle, and took him by the hand, squeezing it tightly; almost painfully so, but Anders didn't mind.

Things happened quickly after that; within a very short time they were all indoors, the guards sent off to a nearby suite, Phillipe packed off to the clinic in Sister Maura's experienced hands. Sebastian and the rest were soon ensconced in comfortable chairs in Sebastian's sitting room, their discussion briefly delayed by the need for Anders to accept enthusiastic welcomes from his dogs. Which at least served admirably to fill the time while there were servants bustling in and out, some still clearing away the remains of the lunch Sebastian had apparently just finished with the Revered Mother, others bringing in a fresh lunch for Anders and the elves.

Once that was over with and they had sufficient privacy, Zevran and Anders both reported on his abduction, the chase, and his rescue, as seen from their two different viewpoints, Fenris joining in with occasional comments as well, to confirm or add to what they had to say. Anders spoke of Antony and Guillaume, naming them as agents of Knight-Vigilant Rémi but avoiding any mention of the templar underground or Guillaume's powers. Zevran followed his lead in the matter without even blinking, Fenris doing the same. After that they produced the papers they'd kept back from those found among the Seeker's belongings.

Sebastian and Glynis were both particularly livid over Odile's musings in her letter to the Divine, and spent a while discussing what to do with the letter, how best to disseminate this proof of the perfidy of the Divine and her tool. After that they moved on to looking over the other documents.

It was early evening before they finally decided to end the meeting, Sebastian again accompanying the Revered Mother out of the castle. When he returned to his rooms he, Anders, Zevran and Fenris had supper together, the three filling Sebastian in on the parts of the story that they had not wanted to discuss in front of Revered Mother Glynis.

"I believe she can likely be trusted with this information," Sebastian said after considering their additional news for a while. "But you are perhaps right to have kept silent on it; even in rebellion against the Divine as Glynis has now declared herself, she might considered a mutiny of the templars against the chantry as a whole to be a step too far."

"And you?" Anders asked softly.

Sebastian sighed. "There was a time I would not have countenanced it either. But now?" he said, and gestured to the documents still spread out on a table in the sitting area. "I have many reasons now to wish the power of the chantry diminished," he said sadly. "I will keep silent about this underground as well, unless it seems necessary to speak of them."

They parted after that, Zevran and Fenris heading off together. Sebastian and Anders remained seated, just looking at each other at first.

"I have never been so relieved in my life as when I received word that you had been rescued," Sebastian said softly. "Staying here, not going after you... it half-killed me. And then when I saw you ride in this afternoon, _safe_..." he broke off, unable to continue.

Anders reached over and took his hand. "Seeing you when I got back... I could only think two things. That I love you. And that I was _home_."

Sebastian smiled warmly at him. "I love you too," he said, then twitched one eyebrow up slightly. "Shall we celebrate your homecoming here, or down in your cottage?"

Anders laughed. "Here will do. Everything I want is here," he said, cocking an eyebrow at Sebastian, then looking around the room to where the dogs were stretched out by the fire, Ashes curled up on the seat of an armchair, before looking pointedly back at Sebastian. "There are only three things I want right now."

"Oh? And what's that?" Sebastian asked, smiling back at him.

Anders released Sebastian's hand, raising his hand to display three fingers. "A _bath_ ," he said, folding down the ring finger, and grimaced. "I haven't bathed properly in _days_ ; I stink and am covered in road dust. And after the bath I want to be in a big soft bed with nice clean sheets," he continued, folding down his middle finger, then he smiled and pointed the remaining finger at Sebastian. "And _you_ in it, with me."

Sebastian laughed, and leaned forward to catch Anders' hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I believe all of that can be arranged," he said, very solemnly. "Can I join you in the bath, too?" he asked hopefully.

Anders grinned. "If you promise to scrub my back for me," he said, before reclaiming his hand and rising to his feet.

" _Just_ your back?" Sebastian asked with false innocence as he rose as well.

"Mmm, perhaps some other bits as well," Anders agreed. "We'll see."

Any further words were cut off by Sebastian pulling him close and kissing him. And while he still wanted a bath, a bed, and Sebastian in it, the kiss was enough for now.


	134. More Than Enough

Sebastian started the tub filling, tipping in some scented oil as he did, the room filling with a sharp piney scent. Anders paused in stripping off his clothing. "That's not your usual scent," he said, and took a deep sniff of the air. "That's _mine_."

Sebastian looked over his shoulder and smiled warmly at him. "I like the way you smell. And I got tired of smelling like a citrus orchard."

"But I _like_ bergamot. It's even in my favourite tea," Anders pointed out plaintively, as he balanced on first one leg, then the other, to strip off his leggings.

Sebastian smiled, and rose to walk over to Anders. "Are you saying you liked my preferred scent because it reminded you of _tea?_ " he asked, one eyebrow flying high.

"What? No! I just..." Anders paused, and frowned, looking, Sebastian thought, rather adorably confused. "I just like the scent."

Sebastian laughed, and leaned forward to kiss him. "I still have it," he said, between kisses. "I'll even still use it," another kiss, as he pressed the mage back against the cool stone-tiled wall. "Just for you. Because _you_ like it."

Anders smiled at him, their faces just inches apart, bodies pressed together. "I like _this_ , too," he murmured, then ran a hand down Sebastian's side. "Except you're in too many clothes still, while I'm... not."

"Mmmm... I've noticed," Sebastian all but purred, leaning down to kiss the top of Anders' shoulder, then the side of his neck, then just below his ear. He pressed himself a little harder against the mage, letting Anders' feel just how much he liked it, feeling the mage's body respond in kind. "May I?" he asked, a whisper right in Anders ear.

"I stink and I'm filthy..."

"I don't care."

"...All right." Anders laughed breathlessly as Sebastian pressed hard against him for a moment, squashing him against the wall as he kissing him again, on the mouth this time, demandingly. He _kept_ kissing him, even as he backed off enough to unfasten and push down his leggings, Anders' hands reaching to push down his smallclothes, to touch and handle him for a moment. He growled into Anders mouth at that.

"Oil," he said, breathlessly, ending the kiss at last, looking away to fumble on the nearby counter, grabbing the first container that came to hand; bath oil. It would do. He fumbled it open, poured some out in his palm. They both laughed as the citrus scent of bergamot filled the air. He slicked it over himself, then reached back to prepare Anders, the mage taking him in hand and stroking him slowly as he did so.

They were both impatient; after a minimum of preparation Anders growled, pushed Sebastian's hand away, and hooked one leg around Sebastian's hips. "In," he demanded, pushing himself up on tip-toe against the wall at his back.

Sebastian nodded, grabbing Anders' thighs to lift him even higher up, then lower him down again, both of them gasping as he slid slowly inside the mage. Anders wrapped his arms tightly around Sebastian's shoulders, then lifted his other leg, locking them both around Sebastian's hips, supported by the wall at his back and Sebastian's arms around him and their intimate joining, his weight pressing Sebastian firmly into him, as deep as he'd ever gone.

They kissed again, over and over, on mouth and cheeks and chin, on necks and shoulders, while Sebastian took him right there, slow and hard against the wall, among Anders' discarded, dusty clothes, and clouds of balsam-scented steam.

* * *

Anders sighed blissfully and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Sebastian's fingers massaging his scalp as the prince washed his hair. As promised, Sebastian had scrubbed his back for him. His back, and everything else, his sure-fingered touch lingering on favourite bits, to much mutual enjoyment. Anders _liked_ being pampered like this, being so lovingly handled and cleaned, from the top of his head right down to the tips of his toes. With kisses, lots of them, stolen, or passed back and forth, or given as little surprises, in odd locations – Sebastian nuzzling into his armpit, licking his soapy thigh, pressing lips and tickling tongue-tip against the arch of Anders' sole as he massaged his foot with firm, dextrous fingers. Anders smiled, remembering how that had made him laugh, and the look full of mischief Sebastian had given him, before startling a yelp out of him by sucking on his toes.

He'd never have thought that having his toes sucked on would feel so... intense. But it had, even more so than having his fingers nibbled on – which Sebastian had also done in the course of washing him – and he'd retaliated with his other foot, sliding it up the inside of the Sebastian's thigh before kneading at him with his toes, drawing a startled squawk and then a smouldering look from the prince. Which had led to other things, including Anders perched on the edge of the tub while Sebastian applied his mouth to more than just toes. They'd gotten the floor quite thoroughly wet from all the splashing around before they finally went back to continuing the actual bathing part of their bath.

"Rinse," Sebastian instructed him, and he ducked under the water, holding his breath while Sebastian stirred his hair around, removing the lather from his hair.

He felt _clean_ when he sat up again; clean all over, and pleasantly relaxed from the heat of the water, and from being there with Sebastian. He shifted to leaned back against Sebastian's shoulder, turning his head to kiss the side of Sebastian's neck, nose nuzzling against the underside of his chin. Sebastian laughed, then leaned down to kiss him as well, on the mouth again.

"We're going to turn into prunes if we stay in this water much longer," Sebastian pointed out, lifting Anders' hand in his, supporting it in his cupped hand with their fingers interleaved together, examining the wrinkled tips, alternating tanned and pale skin.

"Don't care. This is the first time I've felt this good in _days_ ," Anders said, and ran his other hand up Sebastian's thigh under the water, pouting when he found Sebastian still flaccid. "Curses."

Sebastian laughed, released his hand and kissed him again. "I don't have your stamina, love," he said, then smiled slightly, and ran one hand in a caressing motion down Anders' belly, smile widening as his hand encountered Anders' own erection. "That doesn't mean I can't enjoy doing _this_ for you, however," he murmured, and began a slow, lazy stroking, sinking down in the tub and drawing Anders back against himself.

Anders sighed happily, and co-operated, lounging back against Sebastian, eyes drifting shut as he enjoyed the gentle, gliding touch, lying loose and languid in the water. Listening to the sound of his own breathing echoing around the room, the tiny slaps of the water against the sides of the tub from their movements, Sebastian's wordless sounds of approval right beside his ear as the prince brought him off once again, his own body showing a stirring of interest by the time Anders finally came, a gentle pressure against the back of Anders' thigh.

Anders turned over, kneeling between Sebastian's legs and leaning down to kiss the prince. "Thank you," he said, then let one hand touch Sebastian under the water. "Let's take this to bed," he said, squeezing slightly to make it clear just what he referred to. Sebastian laughed, and grinned, before putting his hands on the rim of the tub and pushing himself up to his feet, water sluicing down off his body, his partial erection bobbing tantalizingly in front on Anders. The mage leaned forward and lightly kissed it, before rising to his own feet, winning another amused smile from Sebastian.

They towelled dry, then wrapped towels around their waists for the short walk to the bedroom. Anders leaned down and picked up his discarded clothes before leaving the room; no sense in making it any more obvious that he and Sebastian had bathed together, even if he was beginning to suspect that keeping their relationship secret was a lost cause. He thought the servants had enough loyalty to their prince to not talk about his affairs with others, but still... it just felt _polite_ , somehow, to not leave any unarguable evidence of it lying around. As if as long as he and Sebastian didn't do anything to rub people's noses in the fact that they had become lovers, that the servants would be purposefully blind to it. It might even be the truth, given what he now knew about the closeness of the relationship between the majority of the castle servants and the Vael family.

He dropped the clothing on the floor of the bedroom, the towel from around his waist on top of them, then joined Sebastian on the bed. They spent a long pleasant time just touching each other, exploring each other's bodies – familiar territory now, but made strange by their few days of being parted. As if, Anders thought, they were checking each other to be sure that all the remembered bits and pieces were still there and in working order. He arched his back into Sebastian's questing hands, liking the way the prince's strong fingertips explored the rough texture of his scarred flesh, remembering the night Sebastian had licked and kissed every one of them.

His own hands ran along Sebastian's smoother flesh, feeling the swell and stretch of muscles as they shifted positions, reaching to brush along the firmness of Sebastian's erection. He wiggled away from the prince's hands eventually, moving down between Sebastian's legs so he could take him into his mouth. Sebastian gasped, hands moving to hold Anders' head, fingers threading though wet hair as he held his legs spread, knees bent and raised, little cries of pleasure escaping him as Anders teased him with lips and tongue and mouth and sometimes just the merest hint of teeth. He was all but whimpering in need by the time Anders finally sat up, the mage's own erection hard and ready. He oiled himself first, then readied Sebastian, teasingly, taking his time, pausing whenever the prince showed signs of being too close to coming.

Sebastian was reduced to saying just two words over and over again, in different pattens, " _please_ ", and " _Anders_ ", before he finally pushed the prince's legs up and back, folding him almost in half, and pressed himself slowly into him. His own control was nearly gone by then, and the urgency with which he pounded into Sebastian was a match for the force with which Sebastian clung onto him, their cries loud as they crested and came.

Anders lay draped over Sebastian for several minutes after that, both of them gasping for breath, the two of them still intimately connected. After a while Sebastian sighed, deeply, and ran his hands gently up and down Anders' back, then pushed his hair back from his face, to kiss him gently on the lips. "Don't ever leave me again," he said quietly.

"Not by choice," Anders answered, voice cracking. "Not _ever_ by choice."

"Then I choose for you to never leave me," Sebastian said intently.

Anders smiled crookedly at Sebastian, and kissed him, then pushed himself back, sliding wetly out of him. He rose to his feet and padded over to his abandoned clothing, stooping down to pick up the towel, and retrieve something from his belt pouches. He wiped himself clean with the towel as he walked back to the bed. Sebastian had already retrieved his own towel from the floor beside the bed, and was doing the same. He sat down on the bed beside him, legs curled under him. "Give me your hand," he said softly.

Sebastian looked at his questioningly, but held one hand out. Anders opened his own hand to reveal what he held; a simple vial of clear, thick glass, corked and sealed with wax, filled with a liquid dark red substance. "My phylactery. The templars made it," Anders said, matter-of-factly, and placed it in Sebastian's hand, closing his fingers around it. "So you can always find me."

Sebastian opened his hand to stare at it, then stared at Anders for a long moment, before his hand closed protectively around it. "I will keep it safe," he said, voice rough with emotion, then closed his arms tightly around Anders, and hugged him tightly. " _Never leave me,_ " he said again.

Anders nodded. "Not by choice," he repeated, then swallowed, knowing there was one choice he could not unmake, one that Sebastian should be told of. "There are things you should know. About my being a Grey Warden," he said hoarsely. And told him what _else_ it meant, besides strength and stamina, nightmares, hunger, and a seeming immunity to the taint.

Sebastian held him afterwards, both of them silent for a long time, just clinging to each other, neither wanting this togetherness to ever end, and yet knowing there would be an end to it some day; years down the road, yes, but still _there_ , still knowable, a foreseeable end to their time together.

Anders had almost drifted off to sleep, cradled in Sebastian's arms, pillowed on his shoulder, when the prince finally stirred, and spoke, voice barely more than a whisper. "It doesn't matter. We have no guarantees – either of us – of how long we'll live, of when or where or how we'll die. A year from now, five years from now, ten – we could both be dead. War, sickness, assassination, accidents... you might never live long enough to feel this... this _calling_. I might not live long enough to see it come to you. If you do – if _we_ do – we'll worry about it then. But for however many days we _do_ have, I want you with me, Anders. That's the only important thing; that I love you, and I want you with me, for as long as you can be."

Anders nodded, whispered a response. "I love you too, and I will stay, for as long as I am allowed to."

They made love again after that, long and slow and gentle, erections sliding slowly back and forth in the circle of their hands, with kisses and small smiles and a few tears, because as good as this was, as perfect as the moment felt, they both knew it could not last; not forever.

But then nothing was forever; not life, not even love. Everything comes to an end, sooner or later, good things and bad. And maybe they'd see some of those endings – the good, and the bad – before their own ends came. The future had no guarantees, but they would face it together, whatever it brought to them.

And that was enough; that was more than enough. That they were together, then, and for as long as they could be.


	135. Epilogue: Seventeen Years

_Seventeen years_. A long time, and not nearly long enough, Sebastian thought as he glanced in the mirror, brushed back his hair, tucking a stray lock behind his ear. Seventeen years since an apostate mage had shown up at the gates of his castle, to surrender himself. Seventeen years together.

Long enough for many things to change. Their original dislike and distrust to love; that was one change. Starkhaven from a small, only moderately important city on the Minanter to one of the premiere cities of Thedas, doubled in size and swarming with craftsmen, scholars, mages... a centre of manufacturing, innovation, culture, and most of all _knowledge_ , positions in its University hotly sought after. All of Thedas had changed, in those seventeen years; not once, but twice, in that first thankfully short-lived war that Orlais had launched, and again later.

There were three chantries now; the Tevinter chantry with its Black Divine, the Orlesian chantry with its White Divine, and the Free Chantry, which acknowledged no Divine, but instead had a conclave of the Grand Clerics of the countries which followed its rule, each Grand Cleric elected from within the ranks of Revered Mothers of that country. He smiled, remembering Grand Cleric Glynis – dead, now, having suffered a devastating stroke some years before, but not before she'd seen the Free Chantry spread throughout the Free Marches and to Ferelden, Antiva, Rivain... the Anderfels had eventually joined as well, though that had come later.

There were three orders of templars as well, of course; the Tevinter Empire had retained their own, the Orlesian chantry still had a (much reduced) force of templars, who kept mainly within their own borders, not being welcomed elsewhere. Outside of those two countries, the templars were no longer subservient to the chantry, but a separate force, organized like the Grey Wardens – with a branch in each country, all nominally independent, but answering at least in theory to the Commanderie in Ferelden. Their primary role was still to locate mages, but no longer as jailors – they were guardians now, seeing to it that young mages were protected, and educated in how to safely use their magic, that mages who turned to blood magic or the odd one who became an abomination were arrested or otherwise dealt with. And acted as bodyguards for the free mages, seeing that they remained free, and not killed by those who were still superstitious about magic, or abducted off to Orlais to be jailed in the few remaining Circles there.

A scuff of soft shoe against floor. Sebastian looked in the mirror, smiling as Anders walked in through the door of their bedroom. _He_ looked little changed; the hair perhaps more white-blond than red-blonde, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes a little more deeply etched, but otherwise just as lean and beautiful, as fit and tanned from working in his garden, as he had always been. But Sebastian knew what changes his long sleeved shirt and close-fitting leggings hid, the spreading patches of darkness under his skin. It had not touched his face or fingers yet, but could be seen everywhere else; the shadowy marks of the taint. His own very personal blight war, being fought in the tissues of his body, which was losing the fight all too rapidly.

"Are you ready, or do you intend to stand there and admire your reflection the rest of the day?" Anders asked, lightly, smiling.

Sebastian swallowed past the tightness in his throat, and turned away from the mirror to look directly at the mage. "I will never be ready for this," he answered, truthfully. "But yes... I am ready to go."

Anders walked over, and kissed him tenderly, reaching up to run the fingers of one hand through the grey at Sebastian's temple. "I wish..." was all he said, then fell silent. All the words that really needed saying, they'd said the night before, in bed together. He turned away, walked over to the window, stared out it for a moment, while his hand moved to stroke absently along Ashes' back. A very old cat now, but likely with a few good years left in him yet; more given to sitting and napping on sunny windowsills, as he was now, than to accompanying his owner everywhere as he once had.

Sebastian watched him. A year, since the first small dark patch had bloomed beneath his skin, an ominous shadow of the future, a sign of the coming end of their happiness together. He had abdicated within the month; Ewan, at twenty-four, had been more than old enough to take over the rule of Starkhaven, especially with the ever-practical Niawen at his side, his co-ruler, not just consort.

They had stayed in Starkhaven only long enough to see the birth of the couple's second child – a daughter, Lyrawen Glynis Vael – before departing the capital, withdrawing to the Vael family estate with their dogs – successors to Haelioni and Ganwyn – and cat and horses and servants, to spend what time they had left together. It had, all told, been a very good year, apart from the knowledge that it would end. He would treasure the memories of it; of time spent wandering around at random outdoors with Anders. Of long evenings by the fire in winter, of sitting up to all hours just talking, or not talking, of mornings spent sleeping in late, or getting up early. Breakfasts in bed; meals cooked and eaten together in the huge kitchen, or smaller meals down in the village, with laughter, among friends. Long rides, and sex in the sunlight, by moonlight, firelight, candlelight, in darkness.

Anders turned from the window, and smiled at him. He engraved that moment on his heart – Anders, smiling, cheek and hair gilded by warm sunlight, the deep purring of the cat as his fingers rested on its broad grey back one last time.

The mage stepped over to a small chest on a dresser against one wall; his treasure box, he called it, filled with mementos of their life together. He lifted the lid, dug around, producing a folded length of cloth, once bright gold, but now faded and worn with years. He draped the scarf around his neck, then walked back to Sebastian, kissed him again, softly.

"Let's go," he said.

They went out, Anders saying farewell to the servants, nodding at those who bowed, touching hands with a few special friends among them. They knew; everyone here knew. They had seen no point in keeping it quiet. It had made the necessary arrangements easier.

Their horses were waiting outside, held by a sober-faced young groom, tacked up for the ride, a sizable basket fastened behind Sebastian's saddle. They mounted up, and rode out into the country. Away from the planted fields, to the top of a grassy hill, with a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside. They untacked the horses there, set them loose to graze, while they explored the picnic supper in the basket, lounging on a blanket in the warm sunlight, feeding each other choice bits.

They had discussed going to Orzammar for this. But the darkness of the Deep Roads was not somewhere Anders wished to go, even if traditions had changed and Grey Wardens no longer went alone, if it could be avoided; not since the Wardens had learned of what creatures like the Architect had tried to do with their blood. No, Wardens went into the darkness with an escort now, the Legions of the Dead accompanying them until they either fell in battle or – not spoken of, but silently acknowledged – required a final blow from an axe themselves. Even if he had not so greatly hated the darkness, Anders had not wanted to leave Starkhaven; this was his home, he had said. And so they'd made other arrangements of their own.

They made love, one last time, there on the blanket, with the wind and sunlight on their skins, the small bright clouds scudding high overhead. Cleaned themselves up, and dressed again, and just cuddled for a while, Anders kissing away the tears that ran down Sebastian's cheeks. They talked, for a long time, a last long sharing of thoughts and feelings.

In the early evening, as the sun began to lower, Anders finally took out the little bottle from the bottom of the basket, carefully wrapped. A final gift from Bann Zevran and Lord Fenris; sweet wine from Fenris' estate, with a little something from Zevran added to it.

They exchanged a long kiss, then Anders broke the wax seal, uncorked it. And stopped, to kiss Sebastian again, a very long kiss, his hand resting warm and comforting on the prince's cheek. No words, afterwards – what was there to say that they had not already said?

He drank, then settled back in Sebastian's arms, leaning against his shoulder. They watched the sun setting together. By the time the stars began to appear, one by one in the darkening vault of the sky overhead, he was gone, gone ahead into the darkness.

Sebastian stayed there, his arms around him, waiting for the waggon to come, to bring Anders home, to the waiting pyre.

* * *

Years later, much to his surprise, Sebastian fell in love a second time. She was less than half his age; not even conceived yet on the night Anders had promised to stay as long as he was allowed. He tried to dissuade her, feeling he was far too old for her, but she was stubborn – as stubborn as her mother.

"I suppose I'll get used to thinking of you as my son-in-law eventually," Viscount Aveline told him, at the wedding. "Though I doubt it'll ever stop sounding strange. Prince Sebastian Vael – my son-in-law," she said, and rolled her eyes, and wandered off to straighten the collar of her son Roland, and remind him to spend some time with young Patrick Anders Vael, Prince Ewan's heir, not just all the pretty girls. Guard-Captain Donnic had been much more phlegmatic about the whole thing, but then, with just one son, and four daughters who all took after their mother, he was used to having his life controlled by determined women.

So the last few decades of Sebastian's life were not spent in solitude, as he had thought they would be, but sharing his country estate with a beloved young wife who he was as likely to find up to her armpit in a cow as sewing in the parlour. And amid swarms of children – his own, and those of his closest friends, who came on frequent visits.

It was, all told, a very good life. Nothing at all like he'd imagined it would be like, in his own childhood, or during his wild younger years, or the quiet years of service in the chantry, or even in the years of turmoil afterwards. But good, nonetheless, and filled with love and moments of happiness.

Everything comes to an end, sooner or later.


End file.
